Pied Piper

Francisco and Portland. That was enough for me.”

Daphne spoke up. “You sensed you were being watched by someone before the Shotz abduction.” It supported her belief that the Pied Piper did his legwork in advance, reducing his profile once the kidnappings began.

“That’s what I’m telling you.”

Flemming said bluntly, “You hired Anderson in case it was the Pied Piper watching you.”

Silence fell. Weinstein whined, “You put it like that … I guess that’s right.” He hung his head. “It wasn’t exactly how I was thinking about it. No,” he corrected. “Anderson said it was probably a thief. That made sense: Burglars stake out houses all the time. So we put some stuff in the safe deposit.” His eyes clouded and Daphne knew he was thinking about his missing son. He cleared his eyes and said, “Hell, you know anyone in Seattle hasn’t had their car stolen, or their house broken into? Anderson said catching these guys isn’t so easy. They make you. They take off, stake out someplace else. I offered two hundred on the back side. That sealed the deal.”

Too much television, Daphne thought. Every John Doe a cop.

Weinstein didn’t strike Daphne as a target for a second-story man. Car theft maybe. She wondered if Anderson had simply strung the man along for the down payment.

“You called Anderson to check in. To see how he was doing,” LaMoia stated.

Flemming glared at LaMoia, unhappy with the leading statements. Unorthodox.

“Protect my investment. Of course I did,” Weinstein answered.

“And what did he tell you?”

“First time said he didn’t have anything. So call back. Next time, a day or two later-”

“Two,” LaMoia refreshed him.

“Said maybe some progress. He renegotiated. Said he could get pictures, but that expenses had gone up. Cleared it with me, I guess you could say. Expenses plus another fifty.”

“And so you continued your arrangement,” Daphne stated.

“Sure I did. He all but confirmed someone was watching the house. Actually all he said was that he was working on it. I didn’t like him stretching me out for more money. That bothered me. Plus, a couple times he tried to sell me a home security system, an alarm system.” He hesitated and asked, “Do you guys use them? At home, I mean?”

“Did you?” Flemming asked. “Buy one?”

“No. I’m not sure why. I just didn’t feel like it, I guess. I will now. Hayes kidnapped. Anderson murdered.”

“Anderson’s death has been ruled an accident,” Flemming corrected.

LaMoia and Daphne exchanged glances but neither challenged Flemming.

The attorney barked, “An accident or a homicide?”

Weinstein interrupted, “Listen, if you people had responded to my calls I wouldn’t have hired him in the first place. Don’t dump this on me. Is that what this is about?” He sounded a little hysterical. His attorney placed his hand on the man’s arm to settle him, but Weinstein shook it off. “You guys got the pictures, didn’t you.” It was a statement. “You just don’t know who’s in them and you want me to tell you. But I didn’t see them either.”

There had been no mention of a camera in Anderson’s property inventory.

“He had pictures for you?” Flemming asked.

LaMoia reminded, “You said he renegotiated to include photographs.”

“That’s right. I agreed to the fifty.”

Flemming said heatedly, “Did he notify you about having these pictures?”

“No, he didn’t,” Weinstein answered. “Never. Listen! Screw the photos! What about my boy?”

Flemming ignored him, arguing to the group, “He would have wanted payment for any such photographs. I think it’s fairly safe to say he did not have any such photographs.”

Daphne said, “Everything we’re doing is in an attempt to get Hayes back as quickly as possible.”

LaMoia made notes. “What do you think about the photos?” he asked Weinstein.

“I think he had shot some and was going back for more.”

“And why is that?” Daphne inquired.

The attorney leaned over and whispered into his client’s ear. Weinstein shook his head. “No,” he answered audibly, and then to the others, “I never saw any photographs. I was never expressly told they existed.”

Daphne pressed, “But you believed they did exist. Why?”

Weinstein turned slightly to face her. He wore a boyish, surprised expression. “He said he had something going for him. I don’t remember the exact words.” Weinstein anticipated her next question and said, “This came after the call about the extra fifty bucks. See?” Then a spark filled his eyes and he said matter-of-factly, “You know what it was? He said that he’d get his money when he delivered Mr. Stranger Danger. That’s what it was.”

Daphne felt a spike of heat from head to toe. To police, “Mr. Stranger Danger” referred to child abductors. The association with the Pied Piper seemed unmistakable. Pencils went to paper. Anderson had identified a suspect he believed a kidnapper of children.

If Weinstein had it right, it was the Pied Piper.

When Weinstein and his attorney had left, LaMoia offered for Flemming’s agents to join in a second search of Anderson’s duplex. In a surprise move, Flemming politely refused, implying he was happy to have SPD run his errands for him so long as any evidence discovered was shared. Flemming and Kalidja left together, leaving LaMoia and Daphne alone.

“So?” LaMoia inquired.

She said confidently, “Weinstein was nervous at first. Intimidated. But he loosened up. He’s bankable. His respiration stayed regular. No noticeable perspiration, squinting, twitching. Not even much chair adjustment. He remained alert, focused-and we were throwing a lot at him.”

“Had Caldwell prepped him?”

“It’s a possibility. That would account for some of it.”

“So we buy his statement?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“What?” LaMoia asked, aware that something was bothering her.

She pursed her lips. “It’s not Weinstein, it’s Flemming. He remained pretty quiet until mention of the photography. At that point he became much more animated.”

She asked, “Why did he pass on your offer to search Anderson’s place for the camera?”

“That stunned me, I gotta admit.”

“And what about his attempt to convince us that the photos didn’t exist?”

LaMoia hung his head in thought. He said, “It makes sense if they’ve already worked the Anderson crime scene.” He mumbled, “Fucking-A!”

Pouring ice into his veins, Daphne asked, “What if they already have Anderson’s photos?”

CHAPTER 18

The Box, a small, rectangular interrogation room with gray walls, white vinyl floor tile and an acoustical ceiling, was hot. It held a single war-torn table, the metal legs of which were bolted to the floor, and, on that day, five gunmetal gray straight-backed chairs with padded seat cushions that whooshed when sat upon.

A woman officer by the name of Marsh accompanied Boldt and Daphne. Somehow McNee had identified the vacant house used for the drug lab; the Pied Piper had identified this same house, and that methodology was now critical to the investigation.

As a Narcotics detective, Marsh had the collar, but she granted Boldt this chance to work the suspect since the meth lab raid had been his idea. A previous interrogation already complete, Marsh was content merely to be