The Body of David Hayes

Boldt opened the bomb bay doors and dropped number two. “I think Svengrad may be the one whose seventeen million went missing.”

This won only a protracted stare from Geiser. “How certain are you?”

“Entirely speculative. But if I… if we, you and I… could use the lifting of that injunction as a carrot, something to bring to the table, I have a feeling we might win more than we lose.”

“IRS wants him on tax fraud. The injunction is nothing but a stall while they sharpen their pencils.”

“Then you’re familiar with the case?”

“That Internal Revenue is investigating S &G and Svengrad, yes. But don’t ask me in public, because I’ll deny it. As to this other possibility you’ve just now surfaced, no. That’s news to me.”

“Interested?”

“Interested enough to keep listening.”

“Do you know Svengrad?”

“By reputation.” Geiser clearly felt Boldt’s accusatory tone. “One of his guys surfaced as our primary in the Radley Trevor case.”

Boldt, along with everyone else in Seattle law enforcement, knew the Radley Trevor case. A twelve-year-old boy found buried alive, presumably held hostage for ransom. Boldt remembered now the whispers of Russian mob during the course of that investigation. His chest seized with the thought of his own children.

“Do you believe it possible that the seventeen million was his?”

“Anything’s possible, Lieutenant. The IRS plays it close to the vest, but let’s assume their case revolves around laundering or offshore accounts-that would dovetail nicely with your theory. We know for a fact that David Hayes intercepted at least one wire transfer from a dummy account at WestCorp intended for a Bahamian bank. That would fit what you’re suggesting.”

“I’m under the impression that if we get the injunction lifted Svengrad will provide information concerning several assaults we’re working. Might possibly even hand over a suspect.” This wasn’t Boldt’s impression at all, but instead that if the injunction were lifted, if Liz cooperated in transferring the seventeen million, then his family would be spared bloodshed. Until he found a way around this, a solution that might keep Liz out of it, he pursued the obvious.

“I’m not sure how that helps the prosecuting attorney’s office exactly,” Geiser said. “My interest is…?”

“We prosecute a man responsible for tearing the fingernails off of at least two individuals, and quite possibly for holding the LaRossa family hostage.”

“Your wife is going to help them, isn’t she, Lieutenant?” Geiser dropped a bomb of his own. “Svengrad’s turning the screws, is he? Since when does a Homicide lieutenant recommend aborting a multidepartmental federal investigation in order to apprehend a subordinate, some thug who slapped a few people around?”

“Since one of those he slapped around was a state investigator.”

“Danny Foreman and I discussed running your wife, Lieutenant. He detailed to me the contact made by Hayes, both by phone and in person, and we agreed that your wife remained our best bet of busting open this case. Now you show up in my office, just after our primary suspect disappears in a pool of blood, looking to help a mobster who may be behind the whole case? What exactly is my reaction supposed to be?”

Boldt experienced the rare sensation of being pushed back onto his heels. He was usually the one doing the pushing, not the other way around. “My wife’s cooperation is not out of the question at this point.”

“If Svengrad got to you, Lieutenant, the right and proper course of action is to seek protection. I can help with that, as can the USAO. What you do not want to attempt is to manage this yourself. Physician, heal thyself. Don’t believe it. That’s a mistake. If you came here seeking my help, if you’re concerned about confidentiality, I can assure you that as of this moment I can and will consider you a client.”

Boldt realized he had to push back now. “When’s the last time you spoke to David Hayes?”

“An individual identifying himself as Hayes telephoned me night before last. He said he wanted to cut a deal and suggested we should meet. Why?”

This matched with what Foreman had told Boldt. “And did you meet up with him?”

“It wasn’t Hayes. I couldn’t confirm it was Hayes calling me. In light of these assaults, I thought it a more prudent course of action not to take too many risks. I reached the rendezvous, but then left ahead of time. Left quickly. I never met with Hayes.”

“Danny Foreman received a similar call. Are you aware of that?”

“I am. You look puzzled.”

“Hayes makes pleas to both you and Foreman and within hours is bludgeoned or tortured, perhaps to death. Is there, was there, wire surveillance in place on that cabin?”

“I’m unaware of any. But Foreman is certainly in a position to have bypassed me and gone directly to an Assistant U.S. Attorney. My federal colleagues are far more facile when it comes to granting surveillance.”

“If not a wiretap… ” Boldt said, intentionally not completing his thought.

“Yes, I see,” Geiser said. “Then either Foreman or I would have been the source of such information to whoever did the punishing. One of us leaks that Hayes wants to cut a deal, and someone-let’s say Svengrad-steps in and teaches him a lesson in loyalty.”

“Or kills him,” Boldt said.

“Or that.”

“Which makes that person party to capital murder.” Nothing had gone as Boldt had foreseen or hoped. He wasn’t any closer to lifting the injunction against Svengrad, and instead of pinning down Geiser he felt as if he were coming away partially trusting the man. His detective’s sense told him it was time to check both Foreman’s and Geiser’s alibis for the night Hayes had been assaulted.

“So if you passed on the offer to meet Hayes, that left you where two nights ago?”

“Are you accusing me of something, Lieutenant?” Geiser seemed genuinely amused. “I’m offering to protect you, and you’re accusing me? Of what? Bludgeoning David Hayes? I’m a black belt, Lieutenant. If I wanted to hurt or kill David Hayes-or anyone else for that matter-I would never make such a mess of it. You just bit the hand that was feeding you. I’m going to ask you to leave now. I will keep what we discussed, in terms of you and your wife, in confidence, but I warn you again: Do not take on Yasmani Svengrad by yourself. In all likelihood, that’s what David Hayes seemed to have tried, does it not? And just look what it got him.”

“We don’t know what it got him.”

“Not yet we don’t. And if Svengrad doesn’t want us to, then we never will.”

Boldt and Liz were just sitting down to reheated gourmet dinners from the Whole Foods in the U District when the home phone rang. Neither knew when or even if the call to Liz was coming, so each ringing of the phone brought its own sense of dread. Boldt answered.

“Lieutenant? Sergeant Szumowski. Front desk.”

“Yes.”

“Sorry to bother you with this, but I just got me a caller asking for your mobile or home number. When I refused to give them out, this individual made me write down a message for you, word for word. You want the message?”

“Read it to me, please.”

“Okay. Here goes.” Szumowski cleared his throat as if auditioning for a part. “‘Has your wife watched any good movies lately? If so, you might want to let me have your numbers when I call back.’” He waited through a good deal of silence. “Lieutenant?”

“Did you get a caller-ID, Sergeant?” By agreement with the phone company, every call that came into SPD showed its caller-ID, even if the line owner subscribed to call-blocking. But not every caller-ID number was written down.

“I did, yes.”

“Run that number and get back to me the moment you have a location.”

“Yes, sir.” Szumowski paused. “As to that other thing, sir. How should I handle that? Giving out your numbers and all.”

“If he calls back before you get back to me, then yes, give him my mobile.” Boldt recited it for the man, sparing him the need to look it up in the SPD directory.

“Right back at you, Lieutenant.” Szumowski hung up.