No Witnesses

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 cocky, 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 identity. 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 assumption of responsibility is extremely significant, yes. He or she doesn’t want to assume 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 butterflies 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,