Beyond Recognition

“Maybe I can help the two of you,” Daphne offered. She caught a flicker of what looked like hope in the woman’s eyes. “Is he from a bad home? A runaway?”

Emily looked hateful. “You leave him out of this.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll leave him out of it, but you’re going to have to help.” She wandered around the bizarre room, dragging her finger along the naked women painted there. “City Services would be interested in talking to the boy.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Help me!”

“How can I? You don’t believe me. He has not been here. Do you ever listen, or do you just like to threaten?”

The question stung Daphne, though she hid it by looking at the murals. She removed a photograph of Steven Garman from her pocket, crossed the room, and handed it to the psychic. “Is that the man?” she asked. “Look closely,” she said as Emily began to shake her head. “Forget the face hair. Look at the eyes, the shape of the head.”

“Absolutely not. Not even close.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“You would swear to that in a court of law?” With each question, Daphne studied the woman’s face, putting little value in her words. But what she saw there was discouraging. Emily Richland had never seen the man before. Daphne felt crushed. She had convinced herself that Garman could have created the burned hand for himself as a disguise for the sessions with the psychic.

“It’s not him. Not even close.”

From sour to sweet: Daphne produced a hundred-dollar bill. “I need an exact description. You withheld some details last time, didn’t you?” Every snitch did so, in order to collect more money a second time. Emily regarded the money carefully but seemed reluctant to accept it. Daphne said, “Or maybe the boy can fill in some of the blanks.”

Emily bristled, took the money, and began a thoughtful and exacting description of her client, covering some of what she had told Daphne the first time around but embellishing upon it greatly. She mentioned Sea-Tac airport, a possible drug deal. She described the man in more detail. An image formed in Daphne’s mind-the close-cut hair, the strong build, the farm or rodeo background. The more she heard, the less she liked it. The man known to Emily as Nick-this, from the back of his belt-did not make the most likely suspect for a person quoting Plato. Two suspects? she wondered, knowing that even the suggestion of such a thing would send Boldt ballistic. A conspiracy? What would that do to the investigation?

“Perhaps I’m wrong about this,” she said, hearing the words tumble out of her mouth and wondering from where they came. There were times she seemed possessed of two minds: one eager to solve the case, interview the suspect ahead of everyone else, even the arresting officer if possible; the other, to help keep things less complicated for Boldt and his squad, to ease the tension, improve the working environment. Most of the time, these two objectives existed in direct opposition to one another and forced her to make a choice. She heard her words and wondered if she had subconsciously already made it.

“Perhaps you are,” Emily said spitefully, no longer holding the one hundred dollars: part psychic, part magician. The money had disappeared.

“I want to talk to the boy.”

“No.”

“This isn’t up for negotiation,” Daphne warned. “The more trouble you create for me, the more you bring upon yourself. At the moment, we’re staying clear of warrants and statements and trips downtown. At the moment, as far as you’re concerned, it’s still business as usual. You’re open; you’re seeing clients, I presume. As far as I know, the kid is still working the cars for you the way he worked mine. That can all change, and quite quickly. No work, no little boy. The prudent thing to do at a time like this, Ms. Richland, is carefully weigh one’s options. Obstinacy for its own sake is such a terrible waste.”

“The boy stays out of it,” the other said defiantly.

“By attempting to protect others, we often endanger them further.” Daphne took a few steps closer. “Are you sure you want this for him?” She asked, “Tell me how you know what you know. A drug deal at Sea-Tac. Are you sure? Did you see it, or did he? What if it isn’t drugs? What if it puts both of you at risk? What if you or the boy were seen at the airport?”

Emily’s throat bobbed and an eyebrow cast a lower slant, despite her admirable attempts to prevent any such reaction. Her eyes darted nervously, searching Daphne’s.

“It’s my duty to tell you this, although quite honestly I would prefer not to, because I don’t want to frighten you any more than you already may be. Two women about your age, with about your looks, are dead. You will have heard about the arsons, they’ve been all over the news. This man Nick, or perhaps someone close to him, may be responsible. The military connection works for us … the burned hand. You saw the possible connection, or you wouldn’t have offered your services to us.”

“You’re trying to scare me,” Emily said. “Take a look around at this neighborhood and ask yourself if I scare easily. My age, my looks? Come on! You think he’s targeting me? You think I’m next?” She grinned and laughed. “Where do you get your material, Detective?”

“I’m not a detective,” Daphne clarified, for the sake of the tape recorder running in her pocket.

“But you said-”

“I told you that I’m working on the investigation. That’s true.”

“You told me you were a cop.”

“Also true. Just not a detective. Listen, my role is unimportant here. It’s your role that’s of concern to me. And yes, for all I know, he’s targeting you. We have no idea how he targets his victims, how he rigs the structures, how he gains access.” She hesitated. “Did you ever leave him alone in this room?”

All color drained from Emily’s face. She collected herself well enough not to allow her panic to filter into her voice, but Daphne saw it all over her: the rapid blinking, another attempt at a dry swallow, the twitch in her left eye. She had left the man alone.

Glancing around nervously, Daphne said, “I think it might be to our mutual advantages to work together.”

“You’re messing with me to get at-to get at the boy.” She had almost slipped and spoken his name aloud. Daphne wondered: If she had pushed a little harder would the name have come out? Everything was measured in degrees. She didn’t always guess right.

“Messing with you?” she questioned. “What I’m telling you is that we can’t protect you. That protection stuff works fine in the movies, but not in real life. You think we can afford the manpower to watch your place?” Daphne was hoping to confuse the woman. The truth was mixed: They could afford the surveillance, but witness protection on a local level was nonexistent. Daphne’s role was not to deliver the truth, nor did any regulation explicitly state she was obliged to. Suspects were routinely told falsehoods in order to win confessions; it was one of the techniques of interrogating, tricky at best, and a matter of pride for police entering the Box: The best liar wins. “At best you could hope for the bomb squad to do the two-step through here and try to sniff out any devices. We’d bring someone in like he was a client of yours, in case your place is being watched.”

“Shut up!” Emily threw her head back and forth, her hair whipping the air. “Stop it!”

“But I need the boy for that,” Daphne continued, knowing she had finally gotten through to the woman. “I have to show my sergeant that there’s some currency here, some give-and-take. You must understand that. On some level I know you do. Trust me. Let me work with you and the boy together-no warrants, no arrests. Just a little collaborative effort to put this guy Nick where he belongs.”

Emily’s face showed rage and resentment. Daphne wondered if the woman might strike out at her.

At the same time, Daphne hoped she had cracked the shell, hoped Emily might give her the benefit of the doubt, prayed for a shot at the boy. Child witnesses were among the best. Little kids and old ladies-Daphne knew the statistics. Juries and judges loved them. If the boy had seen something, if Daphne could get it on tape or in a statement, Boldt would be beside himself.

Suddenly, Daphne questioned her own motivations. Was this effort for the betterment of the investigation or to please Boldt? Was she trying to solve a crime or win points? Her belly knotted in pain, and she felt light-headed