reached into her purse and grabbed her phone-she wanted to tell Boldt immediately. But as she prepared to dial, she looked up to see that most, if not all, of the vehicles were now occupied. Out the bow, the well-lit dock at Winslow quickly approached. If she were to do this, it had to be immediately. She had only the one chance.
She returned the phone to her purse, rehearsed a few opening lines, walked to the center of the four rows of vehicles and started down the aisle in front of her. She looked left to right, catching sight of every driver. She approached only men, and did not confine herself solely to this center aisle.
She tapped on a window and waited for the driver to roll it down.
'Excuse me,' she said, 'do you happen to know who won the Mariners' game?'
The stranger's hopeful expression faded from his face and he answered, 'They aren't playing today.'
'Oh,' she said. 'Well, thanks anyway.'
She moved on, crossing past the front bumper of a minivan and settling on a black BMW. Knock, knock. 'Excuse me,' she said, 'do you know if there's a Costco in Poulsbo?'
'I doubt it,' he answered.
'Thanks anyway,' she said, and continued on.
The ship smoothly slowed. She wanted to be seen making as many appeals as possible. For this reason, she moved laterally, port to starboard as well as working her way back toward the stern. She was midships when she spotted Flek. He sat behind the wheel of an old model Cadillac or Plymouth. A gas hog.
She approached the passenger side and knocked. The thing had a Landau roof that looked like burned coffee grounds-too many years in the elements.
He turned the key and put down the window electronically. 'Hey there,' he said.
'Excuse me,' Daphne said, a little flirtatious, a little hopeful, a tiny bit cautious, 'you wouldn't be heading north by any chance, would you?' The island's only major road ran north toward the bridge at Agate Passage.
'Suquamish,' he answered. 'You need a ride?'
'Poulsbo,' she replied, affecting disappointment. She had a destination now-the Port Madison Indian reservation town of Suquamish. He'd been smart enough to leave the city each night, smart enough to hide in a place that neither Boldt nor anyone else ever would have thought to look for him-past the affluent enclave of Bainbridge into the isolation of a reservation town.
'There's a casino the other side of the bridge. Pretty well traveled. I could leave you there,' he offered. 'Or I'll tell you what,' he said before she could respond. 'It's nothing to run you into town. A couple miles is all. Hop in.'
'You sure?' Her heart fluttered in her chest. No matter what the police side of her believed about seizing such an opportunity-and it warned to err on the side of caution-the psychologist hungered for a chance at conversation with this man 'in the raw'- unaware of who she was, his guard down, his true personality exposed. Her own ambitions had threatened her before, but as a scientist she could justify this in any number of ways, none of them very reasonable if she'd been forced to listen to herself. At that moment, she knew she could refuse him and walk away-she could lift the car's registration as she passed to the rear. She could call Boldt and organize a manhunt. But conversely, it might prove tricky ever finding him again. Perhaps it was a friend's car, perhaps a joy ride he would ditch within the next few hours.
Boldt could still be notified. The manhunt could still take place. Suquamish was tiny. It wouldn't be too difficult to find this old car. Or perhaps they could lay a trap for him back at the ferry landing. Perhaps she would pull her weapon and walk him into the Poulsbo Police Department and claim the collar herself. Sanchez was her case, after all. But none of that mattered right now. First she had a decision to make.
She opened the door and climbed in. 'Thanks,' she said, laying her purse on the seat next to her. Then reconsidering, she set it on the floor. 'It's awfully nice of you.'
'How could I say no?' he asked.
A flicker of fear. Did he know her? Something in the way he had said it. The ferry arrived at the pier with barely a nudge, and the deckhands busied themselves. The psychologist sensed the danger. Who had trapped whom? she wondered. The door handle cried out for her to grab hold and get out of the car while she still could. It grew in size, begging for her to use it.
'None of those others would help you out?' he said.
Had he sensed her reluctance and constructed a good line to ask?
'They all live on-island,' she replied, that door handle still calling to her.
The cars up ahead started their engines, and the foul smell of exhaust filled the old car nearly instantly. Eldorado-the glove box read. He pulled the transmission into gear. As he did, she heard the familiar click of all the doors locking at once. She didn't look. She didn't want to make a point of it, but she knew he'd locked the car, or the vehicle itself had done so automatically upon leaving PARK-but it seemed to her it was too old a car for that safety feature.
Very subtly, she adjusted her arm on the door's armrest and fingered the window's toggle. The window didn't open-whereas it had moved for him only a moment earlier. Flek had disabled the windows with the child lock from the driver's door controls. How much was paranoia, how much reality? She felt an icy line of sweat trickle down her ribs.
The cars and trucks began to roll. She understood perfectly well that this was her last chance to attempt to flee. To do so would alert Flek and cause him to break any patterns he had established. The psychologist battled the cop, and the cop battled back, and the psychologist argued again, and Flek took his foot off the brake.
In the end, the decision was made for her. He drove off the ferry and into traffic.
CHAPTER 48
Mac Krishevski's offer of a trade left Boldt's head spinning. He didn't know how much the hotel video might have caught, but it didn't matter-it would look worse than it had been. Liz and the kids would suffer, and so would Daphne. SPD's brass would require one of them to transfer departments, and Krishevski was right that it would be him. He'd never work Homicide again.
He took a long walk up the hill and into Woodland Park, all the while mulling over the possibility of trying to steal or leverage possession of the damning video. It wasn't his style: he'd need LaMoia if he were to try such a thing.
He wasn't thinking about returning any phone calls. He intentionally left his cellular and pager turned off to give him the peace and quiet necessary for the decision he had to make now. He knew that when faced with a difficult tangle, if you pulled one way the mess miraculously came undone, if you pulled the other it ended up an unforgiving knot. He couldn't remember ever being cornered like this. He rebelled against it, but recognized too that he couldn't let his own rebellion get in the way of clear thinking. He knew the wrong decision would have horrible consequences.
From somewhere up in this same park his would-be assassin had thrown a bullet at him. He realized a little too late that he wasn't wearing the vest. A part of him would have welcomed a sniper's bullet at that particular moment. But he knew one wasn't coming. He wouldn't be that lucky tonight.
CHAPTER 49
' You don't look like a hitchhiker.'
'No,' Daphne agreed. The trick was to control her nerves, to not let her concern show. As a professional, she knew all the tricks, though as a possible victim, many of these now eluded her. She explained, 'I'm meeting a friend in Poulsbo. One of the deckhands told me there's only a couple taxis here at the dock, and I'm late as it is, and if I missed that taxi-'
'From the city?'
'Yes.'
