Beyond Recognition

Boldt thanked him and disconnected the line. He redialed and was once again connected with the steam- clean van.

Nicholas Hall stepped through the front door, which closed behind him. Emily’s voice grew louder as she led him into the room and toward the microphone.

Daphne sat with her eyes shut, concentrating. She sensed Boldt looking and said softly, “He didn’t like the tow truck.” She added, “I suggest we lose it.”

Without hesitation, Boldt passed this along to dispatch. Less than a minute later the towed vehicle was secure on the flatbed, and the truck pulled away and down the street.

For the next minute, the only radio traffic was between operations dispatch and a pair of ERT officers concealed behind a hedgerow immediately to the north of Emily’s purple house.

One of these ERT officers, identified only by the number seven, checked several times to determine beyond a doubt that the suspect was known to be inside the structure. Then, in what appeared to be nothing more than a shadow moving across the grass, Boldt witnessed this same agent roll out of the bushes and under Hall’s truck. Less than five seconds later, he rolled back out from under the truck and vanished into the darkness beneath a large cedar tree.

“GPS is in place,” this man announced over the radio. Dispatch acknowledged, repeating the statement. A sophisticated location device had been attached to Hall’s truck, enabling police to track its movement and identify its whereabouts. This accomplished, mobile surveillance could then follow blocks behind the suspect’s vehicle, well out of sight. It was a major accomplishment, and one that helped Boldt feel at ease and in control.

“Good move,” Daphne said, eyes still closed. She added, “I’d tell LaMoia to keep the frat party atmosphere to a minimum. Might be wise, in fact, if he packed it up, made the house dark, and left behind whoever needs to be there. Mr. Hall is a control freak,” she announced in a cold, authoritative voice.

Boldt felt a chill down his spine.

She continued, “He’s used to the military way: everything in its place. Everything explainable. He doesn’t like variations on a theme. He listens to country music. He’s macho. He’ll take her as a hostage if he’s pushed.” This came out as a warning. Allowing Emily to conduct her fortune-telling had been a huge risk for Boldt to take. He had trusted Daphne’s assessment of the woman-that they could work with her. Putting a civilian at risk was absolutely forbidden within the department; nonetheless, it was done on rare occasions-with all sorts of legal waivers in place-and this evening was just such an exception.

Daphne explained her reasoning without Boldt asking. “The belt Emily described is a Western thing. Rodeo. That’s country music-that’s a macho attitude: little woman in her place, and all that goes with it. He’s angry about that right hand, angry every day of his life. He believes he’s owed something for that hand. That could be at the heart of all of this-retribution. I don’t trust him with her. We want to make him comfortable in there.”

A phone rang in the heart of her purse. For the first time Boldt noticed a walkie-talkie sitting in her lap and wondered where it had come from. She took the phone from her purse and passed it to Boldt.

The sergeant answered. Lofgrin’s voice said, “Ninety-percent chance whoever carved that tree was right- handed.” Static.

Dismayed, Boldt said, “I owe you.”

Lofgrin answered, “True story.”

Boldt passed the phone back to Matthews.

“It wasn’t him in that tree, was it?” Daphne said.

“What makes you say that?” Boldt asked.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she replied, not answering. She jumped ahead of him. “Garman’s back in the picture.”

Astounded, Gaynes said, “Are you saying Hall is not the arsonist?”

“Where Nicholas Hall fits in is anybody’s guess.” Daphne held up her index finger, halting conversation. She pointed to the radios. “Here we go,” she said.

EMILY: Welcome back.

HALL: I want to check a date with you.

Daphne hoisted the walkie-talkie and said softly, “Like before.”

EMILY: Like before.

Boldt glanced over at Daphne. She answered the look in a calm voice, saying, “Nicholas Hall isn’t the only control freak.” Bobbie Gaynes grinned.

HALL: Yeah, that’s right. Like before.

Daphne said, “Ask him if the dates worked out.”

Boldt asked her, “When did you arrange this?” She chastised him with a look that told him to hold his questions for later.

EMILY: So, did our other sessions work out for you? They did, didn’t they? The stars are a powerful tool, aren’t they?

HALL: It’s next week. Next Thursday. You can check that, right?

Daphne spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Check the charts and tell him it’s a bad day. Something sooner would work better.”

Over the radio Boldt heard Emily stand and open a drawer. There was a rustling of paper; she returned to the table with the microphone and sat down.

EMILY: You have a descending moon next week.

The psychic’s voice sounded ominous and foreboding.

Gaynes quipped, “My moon’s been descending since I passed thirty. My planets too!” She of the perfect body.

Daphne shot her a hot, annoyed look, but Boldt grinned.

HALL: What’s that mean?

EMILY: It’s not a particularly fortuitous time for you to be making a business deal. You said this was business, not pleasure, isn’t that right?

HALL: Does it make a difference?

EMILY: Very much so.

Daphne announced to her colleagues, “This is interesting. How can someone quoting Plato believe this stuff? I think he takes it quite seriously.”

Boldt had no comment. For him the interview with the psychic was only the beginning. They needed hard evidence against Hall. Probable cause to raid the truck and his residence. Bust it open, a voice inside him urged. The discovery that Hall was unlikely to have carved those trees left Boldt with a pit in his stomach. The wrong guy? He felt impatient and edgy. He didn’t want any hostages, any shooting; he wanted this clean; they had to follow Hall, make something happen. Justify a raid.

HALL: Business, yeah.

“Bingo,” said Daphne. Into the walkie-talkie she said, “Try to draw it out of him.”

EMILY: The kind of business can influence the way the charts are read. Sales for instance. Sales are particularly bad in a descending moon. Negotiations, however, don’t suffer so much. You could negotiate next week, if you’re careful. But if it’s sales, I would suggest you advance the date.

( Paper rustling ) The next two to three days would be far superior.

( Pause ) Is there a date in that range you’d like me to check?

HALL: ( Pause ) How come you didn’t mention this before? Last time? This moon thing.

EMILY: There was no descending moon involved. Your chart was good last time. Not as good this time. ( Pause ) Is it sales then? It influences the way I read the charts.

HALL: Sales. Yeah. You could say that.

Daphne said into the walkie-talkie, “Well done. Number of people involved. Location.”

EMILY: ( Clears voice ) You have a good Mars and Venus. But Pluto is