Unable to stomach these speeds, Boldt chose to look over at Lamoia instead. The blue police light, stuck haphazardly to the dash, pulsed a sterile wash across the car's hood, reflected back onto their faces. The siren wailed loudly but did little to part the traffic ahead of them; people ignored sirens for the most part.
Boldt jerked to one side as Lamoia cut the wheel sharply and passed another slow-moving vehicle. 'Asshole,' he cursed under his breath. This car honked angrily at them, as if they were in the wrong. Lamoia honked back and flipped the guy the bird.
They had made two stops prior to this: Pamela Chase's apartment and Elden Tegg's home. The former was deserted, the latter in the midst of a dinner party, though the front lawn looked as if some teenager had driven across it.
Tegg's wife had been evasive but under pressure from Boldt had admitted that her husband was not at home, having left about an hour earlier. When Lamoia asked about use of their property in Snoqualmie, the woman said she wanted to phone her lawyer. 'Let me guess,' Boldt said. 'Howard Chamberland.'
'Why, yes,' she admitted, her face reddening.
Boldt, worried about Daphne, called a patrol car to check the clinic as he and Lamoia headed for 1-90 and Snoqualmie Falls. When it came back to them that no cars were parked in the back lot and that the clinic was locked up tight and dark, he telephoned the King County Police to alert them that SPD Homicide had a possible hostage situation north of Snoqualmie Falls and would appreciate cooperation. Five minutes later a call came back saying that two four-wheel-drive cruisers would rendezvous with them at the intersection of the Burlington Northern tracks and state highway 202. An Air Rescue helicopter, an ambulance, and the local hospital were all oncall. Boldt requested that the ambulance join the cruisers at the rendezvous. 'Done,' said the dispatcher. 'Not quite,' mumbled Lamoia as he cut the car across three lanes and just barely caught the exit for 203 north.
Boldt shut his eyes and said, 'Tell me when it's over.'
Daphne jumped back, avoiding the jaws of the dog. His ear was cut, his face covered in dried blood. Her gun was lost, having fallen inside the dog pen through a gap between the two cross supports onto which she had dropped.
From across the room, Sharon attempted to shout at her through the gag. It filled Daphne with a sickening pity. Sharon inched forward on stiff legs and seized hold of the chain-link cyclone fence with both hands. A loud buzzer sounded. Her entire body shook with the jolt of electricity.
She let go and smiled. Numb to the current? Daphne wondered.
Conditioned to the pain?
Sharon nodded proudly. Daphne wondered: Insane? Could she get her out of here? Could this woman be expected to climb through the hole in the roof?
One thing at a time! she resolved. Her problem at the moment was making it over to Sharon's cage while staying out of the jaws of this guard dog.
She studied her situation thoughtfully, recalling from her training so ingrained in her: Assess the situation.
Difficult but not impossible. The roof of the cage stood four to five feet off the cement-low enough that the dog could snap at her but too high for it to actually jump up onto. She had to stay at this level, up above the dog. And she had to get over onto Sharon's side of the building-it seemed her only hope to help her, though by the lock on the cage it wouldn't be easy.
She squatted, prepared to jump across the wide aisle, when Sharon took hold of the cage again, sounding her collar. She did this apparently only to get Daphne's attention, for she immediately let go and gestured toward the overhead funnel light suspended in the middle of the aisle.
Seeing it, Daphne understood immediately that Sharon had considered every possibility of escape even crossing the aisle. They were a team.
Indeed, the light looked like a good idea. She would try it.
It was deafening in here. Frightful. The dogs wouldn't stop barking. Had Cindy Chapman once been inside this building? Daphne tried to tune them out, to concentrate, but it wasn't easy. She risked the leaping dog just long enough to reach out and touch the funnel light and get it swinging. With each pass, she increased its arc until she could grab hold of it, which she did. She tested it, giving it a little of her weight, and then tugged down on it. It held firm.
She threw her weight into it and swung across to the other side like Tarzan, letting go in time to land painfully on the top of the opposing cages. The guard dog followed her across-dancing, nipping at her shoes.
The light bulb broke and fell. The pit bull leaped high for it, caught it mid-air, and shattered it in its teeth, unfazed.
Seeing this, Daphne thought: Hungry? The flashlight barely threw off enough light to see anything but the few feet immediately in front of it: Sharon's cage. Daphne opened her eyes wide and moved from one cage to the next, reaching Sharon's. Unsure how the collars worked, Daphne carefully lowered her finger through the wire mesh, not making contact with it. Sharon, crying now, raised her finger and the two touched. Their fingers hooked and Sharon squeezed.
Daphne fought back her own tears. She had no idea how much time she might have-all night? an hour? a few more minutes? — and knew that she had to make the most of it.
Her top priority was getting the guard dog out of the aisle, so she could get herself down to ground level and Sharon's cage.
Food seemed her most promising weapon. She discovered that the farthest pen on this side was stacked high with unopened bags of dried dog food. The latches were a mechanism that lifted via a small finger trigger, freeing a steel bar bolted to the hinged door. Sharon's was the only cage padlocked.
Daphne slipped off her belt and fished with its buckle for the gate latch but was interrupted by the dog, who got his teeth on it.
Seeing this, Sharon distracted him by banging on her cage and hopping up and down. This agitated the other dogs as well. The guard dog, head lifted and barking, patrolled the center aisle, irritated and confused.
Daphne hooked the latch, and the door came open. The guard dog approached her, stretching his neck and barking. 'Get in there,' she said, lowering her hand to tempt him. He snapped at her and she pulled back, but he did not enter the cage, despite the bags of food. He barked erratically, one distrustful eye on the stacked contents, the other on Daphne. She tore loose a bloodied piece of her pant leg and stuffed it between the chain link, landing it directly on top of one of the bags. The suspicious dog stopped barking and edged his way forward, nose twitching. The other dogs went silent as well.
Inside! Daphne leaped down into the center aisle-reeling from her wounded leg-and slammed the cage door shut, trapping him.
Sharon applauded, hopping around her cage like an ape.
The dog lapped up the piece of pant leg and then tore open a bag of food and gorged himself.
The latch on Sharon's cage was broken, the small padlock now secured to the chain-link wire. Daphne wondered whether, unlike the padlock outside, this smaller one might succumb to being shot open. She turned and studied the placement of her gun inside the occupied cage below the furnace. There was a gap between a vertical post and the chain link that appeared wide enough to shove her arm through. But in the time that would take, it seemed the dog would win the contest.
She retrieved a shovel that was leaning next to Sharon's cage and poked the handle through this gap. The pit bull locked onto the handle, pulling and pushing, preventing Daphne from properly directing it. She wrestled it free and then tried again but with the same frustrating results-the pit bull interfered, and the gun remained at bay.
She hooked the shovel's handle on the gun and pulled, managing to skip the gun a foot closer to her. It was within an arm's length now, within reach, if she dared endure the punishment that dog would give her.
The flashlight went dead. Daphne grabbed for it, shook it, and it came back on.
Sharon hopped up and down again. Frightened. She pointed alarmingly toward the door. She placed her hands against the cement. Daphne felt the cement.
It was vibrating. The dogs, still quiet, starting pacing in their cages.
A car! Her thoughts raced ahead: He would see the damaged lock, but it would appear no one had made it inside. She looked up at the furnace's exhaust stack-the ceiling was black tar paper, the hole there impossible to distinguish.
How much time did she have? Seconds? She took a deep breath, steeled herself for the pain, and went for
