Pied Piper

This time, she waited for him. “Sarge, whatever it is-and I don’t to want to know, thank you very much-you’re not alone, okay?”

His eyes stung with encroaching tears. If there was one thing he felt, it was alone. “Thanks,” he said.

She drank the Scotch in two swigs and banged the glass down. She cleared her throat, burned by the drink. Without looking at him, she added, “You need a shoulder, I’m here.”

“What about Anderson’s front door video? Any progress?”

“I’ll be through it by tonight, promise.”

“Didn’t you say that last time?” He checked his own notes. “And the earwax?” he asked. “Anderson’s earwax?”

“I put in the request with the Doc. He should a sent it over to SID.”

“Follow it up,” he instructed.

“Can I ask something?” she asked.

“No,” he answered bluntly, surprising her. He tempered it by saying, “No, I’d rather you didn’t.”

He had hurt her. “Fine,” she said, toying with the empty Scotch glass. She slipped off the stool. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Bobbie!” he called out, wishing he’d handled her differently.

Some guy in red suspenders turned his head. He looked about twelve years old and was smoking an illegal cigar. “What?” he said. “I’m Bobby. What the hell you want?”

Boldt walked past him, too annoyed to think what to say.

Sheila Hill’s office lacked any feminine touches. Cluttered with paperwork, newspapers and stacks of files, it nonetheless had an image of control. She motioned Boldt into one of the two straight-backed gunmetal gray chairs and clicked a shoe off unseen under her desk. “You mind?” she asked, lighting up a cigarette. It was illegal in a public building. “First things first,” she said. “Anderson’s computer. How we let the Feds get hold of it is beyond me. It’s obvious we need to know whatever they know the minute they know it.”

“I can try,” Boldt said, thinking of Kalidja, “but it’s not as if I have ears over there.”

“Yeah? Well get some. Get a line on them-this is Need to Know, this is no bullshit.”

“They sent it to Washington,” Boldt reminded. “Bernie knows a couple civilians in the lab.”

“Whatever it takes. Which brings me to my more important point.”

He felt it coming: She knew about the wiretap and she was about to cut him off at the knees.

She stood and checked her door. She locked it. She took the smoke over to the window, sat down, turned toward Boldt and faced him with her stockinged feet up on the desk. She spoke unusually softly for her. “This goes no further than us.” Boldt felt a chill up his spine. He was busted; he felt certain of it. “Okay. Are you with me?”

Boldt nodded tentatively. Hill had an imposing femininity about her. Sitting so close to her, Boldt felt drawn into her. Captivated.

“We’re all thinking adoption ring at this point. Okay? So if we’re right then there’s some serious money in play. Market price for an illegal is anywhere from twenty to seventy thousand. White babies on the high side. That’s a million bucks and counting.”

Boldt wondered why Hill had waited to weigh in behind the adoption theory. Where was she leading?

“Plenty of spare change for a few favors.” She met eyes with Boldt. “You see what I’m driving at?”

“Maybe I do,” he said.

“You look at these reports, and you realize that in each and every city the Pied Piper blows town only days ahead of a major attempt to collar him. San Francisco. Portland. It’s fairly obvious, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Fairly,” he answered.

“And you,” she said strongly. “You’re in the perfect position.”

“Me?”

“Of course.”

He had never understood the idea of a person’s world collapsing in an instant-worlds took time to collapse- but all at once that was how he felt, as if the walls, furniture, the ceiling and floor began to suck in toward him, crushing air out of the room and him along with it. She knew! She had found out. Next came his confession about Sarah, and then what?

“Me?” he repeated, his voice breaking.

“Who else?” she asked, confirming she had thought long and hard about this. “It’s your world, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he let slip in a sad, quiet voice. She understood too much. His daughter was his world. He and Liz had taken a bath with Sarah not two months ago, her little feet frantic in the water-a different world now for everyone.

“You’re positioned so perfectly. Who would think?”

He felt true hatred. “Who would think?” he repeated.

“Are you with me on this? Do you feel all right? You’re looking awfully pale, Lou.”

How should I feel? he wanted to say. “With you.”

“Who else? Not Mulwright. Not John. They’re too close to the center.”

“You see, I differ there,” Boldt objected. “The closer to the center the better, if it was me.”

“Forest for the trees, in my opinion. I thought about Matthews, and maybe she becomes part of this-”

“She’s not involved,” Boldt interrupted strongly.

“But she could be. If you wanted her to be, she could be. In some ways she’s perfect for this.”

“I’ve barely spoken to her in the past few days,” he protested. But I tapped her phone! And yours … and LaMoia’s!

“But if you wanted her to, she could help you on something like this.”

A high-voltage spike struck him; his fingers tingled. He had misconstrued everything she had said. “Captain …,” he began. “Sheila … what the hell are we talking about here? Me? Matthews?”

“I’m thinking it’s a reporter. You know: exclusive rights for a little cooperation. Book deal. TV movie. It happens,” she added with a strong twinge of regret.

“Are we talking the same thing?”

“A hundred grand? Two hundred?” she added quickly. “I’m thinking a reporter is buying inside stuff and supplying it back to the Pied Piper in exchange for exclusive rights. One of the tabloids.”

Boldt took a long deep swallow. “Just to clarify,” Boldt said dryly, “you’re asking me to flush out an insider?”

She cautioned, “One of the Feds would make the most sense. Hell of a source. A little cash under the table. Happens all the time.”

“You want me to flush the insider?” He felt giddy, he nearly laughed aloud at the irony: She was asking him to trap himself.

She said, “Yes. How else has this person gone undetected for so long? Inside information. Has to be.”

“We sting the Feds with disinformation,” Boldt proposed, “and see who surfaces.”

“Whatever you can come up with.” Unknowingly, Sheila Hill had just provided him the justification for the wiretaps he had ordered.

He would need to go through with something-no matter how poorly conceived-to placate her. Maybe use Daphne, maybe not.

“I think you’re onto something, Captain. It makes sense.”

“You’re damn right it does. We get this insider out of play-we keep our efforts from being sabotaged-and we just might collar the Pied Piper.”

“Right,” Boldt agreed. It was all he could think of.

CHAPTER 27

Boldt parked outside the Shotz house shortly after 8:00 P.M. that same Thursday. The warm evening air