No Witnesses

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 fuck. 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 hell 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 appetite 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 embarrassed, 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 glass of wine, but if I have one I’m likely to start belly dancing in the living room, or maybe I’ll just pass 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 pass 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 damn 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 document 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 hell 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