“Are you a mind reader, too?” he asked. He sat her down and together they shared toast and cream cheese while LaMoia explained most of his interview with Cindy Martin. He stuck to the highlights.
She said, “So the kids shared a hatred of the father, and when the father died there wasn’t as much to share. Mary-Ann gets her act together, probably feeling free for the first time in her life. Little brother Ferrell doesn’t fare as well. Feels abandoned.
Mary-Ann’s been mother and sister all in one. Pretty big void to fill, if that goes away all of a sudden.”
“And he’s chosen you to fill it.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said.
They ate another piece of toast each. She took hers with honey and a second cup of tea, after which she said, “Second night in a row. I’m whipped.” He wouldn’t let her clean up. She returned a moment later with the drop gun and Taser, returning them.
“You can keep them,” he said.
She left them on the counter. “It was incredibly good of you to do that for me, John.”
“I’d do anything for you, Matthews. You know that.”
The seriousness of his statement hung between them. She knew if she simply walked away to her room it would put him in a bad place, so instead she crossed, closing to within inches of him. She took another step, and reached around him and they hugged. His body was all lean muscle. Besides the physical warmth between them, there was a current that hummed. Her chest tingled, as did her pubis. Stepping away, she turned quickly and said good night, hoping he wouldn’t see that her nipples had gone rigid beneath the T. There were too many lines that could be crossed here. She needed to get back to the houseboat, despite her having no desire to do so.
She asked, “What about IDing the latents from that lair Lou found? What about searching every known part of the Underground there is? Walker has to be hiding down there, right?”
“Tomorrow’s another day,” he said. “If there was anything to know, we’d know it.” He smiled, “Good night.”
“Sweet dreams,” she answered.
He mumbled something to himself. She was glad she didn’t hear it.
Ten minutes later she prepared for bed by shutting the office door and slipping off the sweatpants. She climbed under the duvet, the comfort of that bed about as welcome as anything she’d ever experienced. Blue scratched at the door, and she got up to crack it open so he could come and go. A moment later she was back under the covers thinking that life’s little pleasures were also often the biggest.
Maybe he’d bought Pollock because of the theme of alcoholism and depression-a part of his rehabilitation. Maybe just because of the performances. She wasn’t sure why this was where her mind focused on its way down toward sleep. She rolled over, slid her arm under the pillow, and she gasped, jumped away, and rolled out of bed in the process.
“John!” she called out without thinking.
He was there in about five steps. Shirtless, in a pair of gray athletic briefs, the legs of the underwear longer than tighty-whities. She remained on the floor, her T hiked up above her navel, her bikini-cut panties showing a lot more than she’d ever want seen. But neither of them was checking the other out, their attention was fixed instead on the guest bed. Her overreaction had tossed the pillow to the side. Lying on the bedsheet was the cause of all this.
A key. A skeleton key. The sheet remained slightly damp where a hand had touched it.
“What the hell?” LaMoia came closer.
Matthews sat up, tugging the T lower, but it wouldn’t go low enough. “Looks like Walker kept his promise,” she said, her voice catching.
“Hebringer and Randolf? You think?”
“We’d better call Lou.”
A Tight Leash
“I can’t tell you absolutely it was him, no.” Matthews wore a blue fleece jacket of LaMoia’s zipped up tightly and the same pair of gray sweatpants. Her hair was back in a clip.
“We’ve upgraded the BOL to an All Points,” Boldt said, watching Bernie Lofgrin’s SID team process LaMoia’s loft.
LaMoia huffed at that. Boldt glared at him. “Sergeant, you have something to contribute?”
“No, sir.”
She’d never felt this kind of tension between the two. “Gen-tlemen,” she said, letting them both know how stupid they were being.
LaMoia said, “Give me an ERT unit and the rest of the night, and I’ll have him in the Box by your second cup of tea, Sarge.”
“It’s not how we play this,” she said, turning them both to face her. “He kept his end of the bargain.” She indicated the key, now labeled in a plastic evidence bag. “So we keep ours by putting Neal into a lineup.”
“The truck driver?” LaMoia said. “You think? He’s worthless, Matthews.”
“But we keep our end of it. If we treat him like an informant-”
“Then we don’t lie to him,” Boldt completed for her, nodding.
“But he’s not an informant,” LaMoia protested. “He’s a goddamned screwball with a bunch of nuts loose.”
Matthews did not care for that evaluation and let him know with a harsh look.
Boldt said, “We chase down this key; we set up the lineup; we keep you under close watch,” he told Matthews.
“It’s not about me,” she said. “I’m the messenger, that’s all.
Maybe an ear; maybe he thinks he can talk to me.”
LaMoia snapped at her. “And maybe he thinks you’re the second coming of Mary-Ann, and he wants to ride off into the sunset with you … or on you, for that matter.”
“That’s uncalled for,” she said.
“How do we know he wasn’t giving the sister a hump out on the boat after dear old dad croaked, and along comes Neal stealing all the fun?”
“We don’t,” she answered honestly.
“What’s with the father?” Boldt asked, effectively ignored by the pair.
“How do we know those fishing ‘accidents’ weren’t the younger brother playing a little rough with sis?”
“We don’t.” She felt right on the edge of yelling at him.
“I rest my case,” LaMoia said.
Boldt repeated, “We work the key. We run the lineup tomorrow, and we keep a tight leash on you. Anyone have a problem with that?”
“He’ll be watching Public Safety,” she announced, “to see if we bring Neal in for the lineup. To see if I keep my end of this.
It’s a means to an end, okay? If we bring Neal in for this lineup, and we play the surveillance right, Walker will come to us. We won’t have to go looking for him.” She added, “We chum the waters, and the fish will come to us.”
LaMoia settled himself with a deep breath.
“Okay with you?” Boldt asked his sergeant.
“Whatever.”
“Is that a yes or a no?” Boldt asked.
LaMoia nodded and met eyes with Matthews in something of a staring contest.
Boldt asked her, “Are you okay here, or would you like to transfer to a hotel?” His tone of voice leaned heavily on the second option.
She raised her eyebrows, passing the question along to LaMoia, who said, “I’ll hold off on the ERT until we
