Again, she stared at the ceiling. Boldt's frustration built.
'Maria, we have two more officers in this hospital this morning. We have suspicious movements from officers in Property. We have far more questions than answers, and you're apparently one of the few people who knows what's going on. I know it's asking a lot-too much even-but please, help us out here!'
Her eyes shone. A tear escaped down her cheek.
'We've upset you,' Daphne apologized to the woman. 'Are you avoiding answers, Maria, because we are not I.I., not directly your superiors on this case?'
'Yes!' Somehow those eyes shouted.
Again Maria stared at the ceiling, tears running.
'But we want to help!' an exasperated Boldt pleaded.
Daphne repeated softly, 'Do you think your assault might be connected to your I.I. case?'
Her eyes shut and reopened. 'Yes,' she replied, now staring directly at Boldt.
Daphne looked across to a relieved Boldt and said, 'We need this burglar in custody. If he can give us an alibi for the night of her assault, then-'
'Maybe that would be enough to take a good long look at whatever case she was working,' Boldt interrupted. The secrecy surrounding I.I. cases was notoriously impossible to crack. He said, 'You're right about the order of things-this burglar just might become our star witness.'
CHAPTER 22
Anthony Brumewell caught a glimpse of himself in the driver's side mirror as the garage door flipped shut electronically and he stepped out into his garage. Working nights was not his thing; he felt exhausted. He entered the home's small kitchen, dumped his briefcase onto a kitchen chair, and headed straight for the refrigerator and a Coors Lite. He yanked down a jar of dry-roasted peanuts, popped off the yellow plastic lid and spilled out a handful. He blindly reached over for the TV's remote and came up empty. When he turned toward the TV itself he realized there was no remote control because there was no TV. And that was when the first pang of dread overcame him.
What the hell? he wondered, his mind fishing for a recollection that might explain its absence. He dropped the beer can on the counter. The peanuts spilled like pebbles onto the floor, and his heart raced furiously. The television had been stolen, he realized now. Was someone still inside the house? He panicked.
He picked up the wall phone. No dial tone. 'Hello?' It was off the hook somewhere else. There were two other phones: one in the living room, one in the bedroom. He scrambled to get out of the house. Only then did he notice his home security box had been smashed up.
Terrified now, Brumewell hurried back out to the garage and into the safety of his car. He locked the car doors, tripped the garage door to open, turned the key and shoved the car into reverse, knocking a mirror off in the process. He reached for the car phone, already stabbing the three numbers he had never before dialed: 911.
CHAPTER 23
Another break-in. Boldt contacted the Brumewell crime scene by cell phone and uncharacteristically drove over the speed limit to get there. Phil Shoswitz had caught him while he was on his way to the Jamersons' for breakfast. Shoswitz's burglary unit had drawn the investigation on a chaotic morning when nearly nine hundred officers-out of the eleven hundred who had walked out-had returned to work 'unexpectedly.' The media was camped in the lobby of Public Safety, making a zoo out of the place. The victim-the owner of the house-was waiting for their arrival. The radio led with 'breaking news' that the strike had been broken by a tough stance from the new chief. Rumors and stories abounded.
Without asking if the victim's home had a garage, Boldt requested that the garage's clicker be waiting for him.
SID had not yet arrived. The sunrise had brought rain, then sunshine, now rain again-like Boldt, it couldn't make up its mind. There had been no assault and therefore no detective initially assigned. It was only through the diligent eye of a dispatcher that Shoswitz had been notified at all. With Flu-time burglaries at an all-time high, and low on SPD's priority list, Anthony Brumewell might have been missed by the radar entirely.
Boldt intentionally blocked the short driveway with the Cavalier. Sunshine again. He hoped it might hold. He didn't want SID pulling their van in there as they had at the Sanchez crime scene. Cleanliness was next to godliness at a crime scene.
The patrolman said, 'I've got the owner in the front seat of the cruiser, if you want to-'
'Later,' Boldt said, accepting the clicker from the man. 'Take down his statement, Officer… Mallory. No editorials. Just let him talk. You've got five to ten minutes.'
'Yes, sir.'
'If the press shows up, you keep them away from him. You got that?'
'Got it.'
'SID waits outside as well. Anyone entering while the captain and I are inside will be chalking tires. That includes you, Officer Mallory. You want me, you page me. Dispatch has the number.'
The officer nodded but looked a shade or two paler than a moment earlier. He took off as Shoswitz caught up. Boldt pressed the clicker and the garage door opened out and up, reminding Boldt of a mouth of a tomb. He handed Shoswitz a pair of latex gloves. 'You ready, Captain?'
Shoswitz rubbed his elbow violently. Boldt took that as a 'yes.'
Brumewell's garage was crowded, though not cluttered, with collapsible lawn furniture and rusted garden tools hanging from nails on the wall. Boldt and Shoswitz steered their way clear, and then Boldt tripped the clicker he held in his hand, the garage door slowly closing.
'What's with your interest in the garage?' Shoswitz asked.
'Point of entry,' Boldt answered. 'Dead-bolted homes, Phil. It took us a while to see the common denominator. Our boy clones the garage door clickers, probably by hanging around nearby and picking up frequencies. I had someone looking for a name for us, but I haven't heard from him, so I suspect we've drawn a blank.'
'My guys didn't have this garage thing?' Shoswitz queried, a little troubled.
'Neither did I, Phil. Sanchez gets the credit on this one.' They entered the kitchen. Boldt speculated, 'My guess is that the burglar takes only one big risk: He backs his van into the victim's garage in broad daylight and then shuts the door. If he pulls that off cleanly, he's home free. Probably carries a police-band scanner with him. If it's me, I put the scanner in a pocket and an earpiece in one ear. If I hear this address called in, I'm gone. Otherwise, once he's inside, he's inside.'
Shoswitz followed Boldt out of the kitchen and into a living area, where several vacant spaces on shelves marked some of the stolen electronics. A cable TV box sat on a table's empty surface. A VCR, untouched. 'My guys didn't get this?' a frustrated captain repeated.
'Not important,' Boldt said.
'It is to me.'
'You made inquires about an I.I. connection?'
'First thing. But the chances I'll hear back-'
'I know,' Boldt interrupted.
Boldt had greeted LaMoia's return to the fifth floor by dumping a copy of all eleven burglaries on his desk and ordering him to use his contacts in the private sector to look for possible insurance fraud.
Standing in Brumewell's living room, he made notes about the missing electronics.
'Clean job,' Shoswitz said. 'It's no junkie, that's for sure.'
The comment triggered a thought, and Boldt dropped to his knees, searching the area behind the cabinet that had held the TV.
