“I’ll try to do whatever you and Danny ask, Lou, but I will not be excluded from the decision-making process. You, or someone, is going to offer David a deal. I will bring him that deal, if necessary.”
“We’ll protect the mother if we can. Depending on where she lives.”
“California, somewhere.”
“That’s more problematic, but not impossible. As I said, I need to make some calls.”
She felt the principal had dismissed her, but she wasn’t done. “As far as I’m concerned, the worst thing that can happen is that we allow this to drive a wedge between us.”
“Which is why Danny and I are now in charge,” Lou said. “Because that’s
Alone now, Boldt wondered why her affair had to resurface, why Liz had to remind him that he should feel something more than his general sense of numbness allowed. Over the past six years, he’d figured out how to hide much of this behind a carefully erected wall. Now, despite all his emotional masonry, that wall had crumbled down around him. Around them both.
Boldt phoned Danny Foreman, prepared to feel impotent and the source of another’s unspoken amusement. Cuckolded. He lacked a cohesive strategy but knew time was of the essence. Danny would already be working angles that he, Boldt, had yet to see. To wait too long was to be completely excluded. Liz had put herself in the center of this, and now Boldt needed to extricate her as quickly as possible.
Foreman didn’t pick up at his office, nor did he answer his mobile. Boldt left a pair of messages, but he knew in advance that there was good reason for Foreman’s silence.
Danny Foreman was already hard at work, and Boldt was playing catch-up.
It was an unspoken rule in the Boldt home that police business not be discussed, and so the collision of these two worlds caused repeated violations, begun the previous morning with the discussion of Danny Foreman’s assault and continued now through the post-dinner kitchen cleanup. As Liz patrolled the table and countertops, Boldt parked himself in front of the sink and splashed his way through a pile of pots and dishes, most of which were on their way to the KitchenAid dishwasher to his right, a noisy, prehistoric contraption that needed replacement. The thing would outlive most dogs without ever failing, but its churning, swishing, and occasional grinding amounted to an invasion of privacy, as far as Boldt was concerned, so he didn’t turn it on when the time came. Instead, he eavesdropped on his son, Miles, practicing piano.
“It’s beautiful,” Liz said, finishing off a countertop with a damp sponge. He sensed in her the desire to reestablish their lives as normal.
“It’s astonishing,” Boldt said. “His age… and as little training as he has had.” He was wondering what came next and how he could work to separate Liz from the investigation.
“Chip off the old block,” Liz said. “Off the old
“I don’t have a tenth of that kind of talent.”
“He got it listening to you. Watching you practice as much as you do.”
“I’d love to take credit for
“You’re both special,” Liz said. “And Sarah, too.”
The wall phone rang, interrupting the few moments of distraction away from the case. With the chiming of those tones, both husband and wife went silent, caught in a pregnant pause of indecision as to who should answer, and who should listen in. Boldt had never loved the phone, considering evening phone solicitation a crime on the level of a felony, and now had no desire to ever hear it ring again.
They both expected it to be Hayes, but it was Laura Towle, inviting them to a dinner with the school board member who represented their district. Boldt listened one-sided as Liz accepted. She knew that her husband supported her own passion to improve the early reading program. But the intrusion registered on both their faces as Liz hung up. David Hayes had stepped into their lives. There was no getting around it.
Not long after that they rounded up the kids and got them to bed. Familiar routines that settled Boldt’s anxieties and reminded him how important this family life had become for him.
Twenty minutes after the kids went down Liz’s cell phone rang, and this time her face collapsed as she answered. Boldt edged up next to her and she cocked the phone away from her head just far enough for Boldt to overhear.
Hayes made it short and sweet. She was to withdraw five thousand dollars in cash from the bank, deposit it into an aluminum briefcase sold by a Brookstone store in the small mall beneath the bank, and carry it with her out of the bank and onto the streets. Additional instructions were to come by cell phone then.
“They’re willing to deal,” Liz said, stretching the known facts. “The details aren’t worked out, but they’re sympathetic to your situation. They’re willing to protect you and your mother. Let me work this out for you, David.”
The long pause on the other end of the call seemed good reason for hope.
“Don’t let me down, Lizzy. These guys… there’s no deal that could possibly be good enough. Help me out here. Do this for me. Tomorrow, four P.M. sharp.”
The line disconnected.
Twenty-five minutes later, at Boldt’s beckoning, Danny Foreman knocked on the back door, and Boldt let him in. He was out of breath, his forehead sparkling, his eyes frantic, betraying a cluttered mind.
“Let me explain this,” Foreman said, looking too big for the lovingly restored parlor chair that had once been Liz’s great-aunt’s. He sat forward, dispensing a sense of urgency that Boldt found contagious.
Boldt reviewed the Hayes phone call with Danny Foreman as if Liz weren’t in the room, an attitude corrected after a series of glaring looks on her part. He built up to a point where he felt himself capable of negotiating Liz out of the money drop that Hayes had requested. It was then that Foreman jumped in with his own news.
“I’ve spoken to Paul Geiser. Any deal is predicated upon the recovery of the software or whatever means was used to hide the money as well as the identification and apprehension of whoever’s money it was in the first place.”
“But that’s ridiculous,” Liz blurted out. “That’s not a deal. That’s conscription. He’s not a cop, for heaven’s sake.”
“Paul is just a prosecutor. He’d have to pull some serious strings to provide permanent relocation for Hayes and his mother. Witness protection like that is only done on the federal level.” Boldt felt himself nodding along. The state could protect an important trial witness for a matter of weeks, or sometimes even months, but true relocation was a matter for the Justice Department. “If he can put a racketeering charge onto whoever’s got a thumb on Hayes, then the U.S. Attorney’s Office takes over and he says relocation is possible, not guaranteed, but possible. But that’s the only way it’s going to happen.”
“It’s too much,” Liz said.
“You’re speaking for him now, are you?”
“Lay off, Danny,” Boldt said.
Foreman sat back and collected himself. “Paul asked if Liz would go along with us, at least far enough to obtain what he calls the ‘cloaking’ software-whatever means was used to hide the money. I told him I doubted it, given your involvement.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, okay?” Liz leveled a look at both men. “Did you tell this prosecutor about David and me, Danny?” Foreman looked as if she’d slapped him across the face. “He knows, Danny,” she said, indicating Boldt. “I told you I wasn’t going to hide any of this.”
“He knows I have some juice on you, yes, because he asked how far we could push you.”
“And you answered, how?” Boldt asked.
“I was clear that the degree of her involvement would probably be defined by you more than by her.”
“But you said you had juice.”
“I did, but Paul has no idea of the nature of that.”
“He can guess,” Liz said.
“No. If he guesses, it will have to do with internal politics, because that’s the way Paul Geiser thinks.” Foreman
