“Time’s a wasting,” LaMoia said, when the man calmed. He and Boldt moved toward the door.
Boldt said, “Enjoy New Orleans.”
LaMoia added, “What little you’ll see of it.”
“Okay, okay!” The man shouted in disgust. “I came aboard in Portland.”
“We know that,” Boldt told him.
“Yeah? Well did you know that I was working the Vegas field office? The AFIDs at the crime scenes identified TASER cartridges that were purchased by a valid credit card. The purchase was made in Vegas, so indirectly I had an active involvement with the investigation from the very start. Flemming and I were in nearly constant contact. The credit card led nowhere. We tore the residence of the cardholder to pieces-lived in Kansas. Nothing. But there were no other fraudulent charges on the card. None. So why’s somebody bother to steal a credit card and only charge one item? Right? So we work this cardholder into the ground: known associates, business relationships, family. We had an army looking into him. And it’s my lead on account of the Vegas connection to start with, and because Flemming asks me to take it for him. Then the Pied Piper moves his act to LA out of the blue, and I get a call from the Hoover Building telling me-ordering me-to maintain contact with Flemming. His girlfriend has vanished. There are some inappropriate deposits in his account.”
“Flemming?” Boldt barked.
“That’s what I’m saying. Same reaction I had. Gary Flemming? You gotta be kidding me! But an order’s an order.”
“Flemming?” Boldt repeated.
“By San Francisco, things are going really bad with the case. And when they suddenly look a little better, Flemming fires the whole team, claiming incompetence. Maybe he asks for me, maybe the Hoover Building helped the decision, but suddenly I’m on the team. I get to see things firsthand. Evidence that goes east to the lab and seems never to come back. Little stuff, but important. He’s not returning some calls. He’s not paying attention to certain witnesses, certain evidence. The local cops in Portland do some good police work. I pass it along. Suddenly the Pied Piper’s on the run again. Then you guys, even better police work I might add. The holes are a little more apparent. And then Andy Anderson. Flemming is fixated on Anderson, can’t let it go. Has the place under surveillance. Has us pulling evidence without warrants-messing up everything-and I’m getting nervous.”
“You’re reporting back to Washington this whole time?”
“I’m supposed to be. But Gary Flemming? Am I going to sink a career like that based on a bunch of nothing? It’s all little stuff. A lot of it doesn’t add up. Mostly because I get this feeling-it’s a
“I’ve felt that too,” LaMoia confessed.
“Right? And then this tattoo you guys surfaced-and come to find out the task force knows squat about some tattoo, and now I’m really scratching my head. I gotta get down here and see for myself.”
“The phone?” Boldt asked. “Just now? You got through?”
He nodded. “To Hill. You know Captain Hill,” he told LaMoia, “better than the rest of us.”
LaMoia bristled.
“Flemming knew you were dicking her. Had me follow you more than once. Nice hotels.”
Boldt called out sharply to LaMoia, preventing him from delivering the blow he intended.
“He’s been saving it as his ace. Push comes to shove, the task force is his. All his. And he would’a played that ace, believe me. Was all set to. Only now you’ve gone and gotten yourself suspended, and that messed up everything. He doesn’t have the leverage he might have had.”
LaMoia’s face flamed red.
“Hill?” Boldt asked.
“Gave her the flight number. Described the suspect.” He said, “There’s a nonstop from DFW to Seattle, arrives early tonight.”
“Hill?” Boldt asked.
“Better than giving the suspect over to Flemming,” Hale complained. “He’d screw up the surveillance. He’d do it intentionally.”
“He’ll find out,” Boldt said. “Once Hill deploys Special Ops-Mulwright and that mouth of his-everyone in law enforcement in that town will know.”
Boldt said, “If it checks out, we’ll call down and free you. As it is, we’ve got to know before we risk the Kittridge girl. Maybe you understand that, maybe you don’t.”
“Get back here!” Dunkin Hale demanded loudly.
LaMoia pulled the door shut with a thud. The two security guards stood sentry.
“Nothing rough,” Boldt demanded. “Just give us overnight.”
“We got you covered.” Surfer added, “Pleased to help out.”
Lisa Crowley was about to get caught in a squeeze play between SPD and FBI surveillance. Sarah required that Boldt prevent that from happening, even to the point that he come to Lisa Crowley’s rescue. Crowley remained his only chance of locating his daughter.
Big amp; Easy Charter wanted seven thousand dollars to charter a private jet to Seattle. Boldt split it between three credit cards, maxing out two of them.
Daphne and Trudy Kittridge headed to Houston and on to Seattle as planned, scheduled for a late-night arrival.
Within the hour, Boldt and LaMoia were airborne, with crab and avocado salads and every drink on the face of the earth available to them. An Airphone. A choice of fifteen videos. LaMoia watched
Boldt made calls.
CHAPTER 73
“Listen up, people!” Sheila Hill shouted over the heads of the crew assembled in the Public Safety Building’s second-floor squad room. Boldt stood leaning against the back wall. “The suspect, traveling under an assumed alias of Julie DeChamps, is scheduled to arrive at Sea-Tac airport in less than an hour from now-at 7:07 P.M.” She stood balanced precariously on a chair in front of a large white board that carried team names in a variety of colors. Of the twenty people collected in the room, only a few were qualified for surveillance, the rest were patrol personnel dressed in civvies. To her benefit, the group included Patrick Mulwright and a six-man Special Ops unit-highly trained in both surveillance and hostage situations-already on their way to Sea-Tac, along with one of the department’s three mobile command vehicles. Hill noted that Bobbie Gaynes was not in attendance.
She shouted to be heard. The excitement had infected the group, rumor running rampant. “Listen up!” she repeated. “Remember, we don’t have much of a description. She’s traveling alone as Julie DeChamps. Dark hair. Five feet six. We know the Bureau has established surveillance at the airport, but that’s about all we know.
“Flemming wants this collar for the Bureau and federal prosecution. Obviously, that does not perfectly match our picture of things.”
A few derisive boos rose from the gathering.
“We suspect the FBI will move to arrest the suspect once she has made contact-either physically or through communications-with her male accomplice. We’ve established that the Feds have trap-and-traced all pay phones at Sea-Tac. We assume they will apprehend and arrest the suspect somewhere outside of baggage claim once she is either picked up by her accomplice or makes for public transportation-sooner, if she makes a phone call.
“Teams Bravo, Charlie and Zulu, you have your respective assignments. The Bureau is, without a doubt, able to monitor our open communications. Possibly even our secure frequencies. We will not have their radio traffic, but they may have ours. That means we use our radios as little as possible. Remember this: They may have the gear, but we know the city.
“We are following a plan conceived by Lieutenant Boldt,” she said, pointing.
Boldt was working not one plan, but two. He had no intention of either the FBI or SPD arresting Crowley, although his role at the moment was to convince otherwise. He said, “We’ve worked closely with Matthews as to the psychology of both the suspect and the FBI. We aim to give the Bureau a decoy while we stay with the real
