Tegg stated clinically, 'That should do it. Send along the usual instructions regarding the anesthesia. Also some buffers to help out with the abrasion to the stomach lining. If the vomiting continues, they should reschedule immediately.'
He moved toward the door. 'What's next?' he asked her. 'You haven't taken a break all day,' she said. 'What's next?' he repeated. 'A toy poodle,' she advised, checking a list. 'Blood in the urine.'
'Are we set up for surgery?' he asked. 'All set,' she replied. 'Give me five minutes,' he told her. Then he added sincerely, 'I hate toy poodles.'
The downtown branch of Seattle's public library is two blocks from the Public Safety building, the police department's central offices. it is overshadowed by an intriguing skyline sprouting new glass and steel in amounts that ten years earlier would have seemed inconceivable. The Big Money had hit Seattle in the mid-80's, bringing with it a renewed downtown, renovations, public transit, and the ubiquitous shopping centers. The thirty- and forty-story towers competed for the best view of breathtaking Elliott Bay and Puget Sound to the west and the majesty of glacier-capped Mount Rainier to the southeast. By city standards, Seattle's downtown is remarkably small, contained to the south by the Kingdome and to the north by the Seattle Center, a holdover from the 1962 World's Fair. To the west is the green-marble estuary with its gray ferries and black freighters; to the east, downtown is stopped by Interstate 5, Pill Hill and Seattle College. Downtown is surrounded for miles by rolling hills blanketed in two-story clapboard homes and communities like Ballard, Ravenna, Northgate and Richmond Highlands. It is a city of water: the Sound, lakes, canals and rivers. For Boldt's taste, the city's growth and expansion was happening too quickly, seemed too uncontrolled. Seattle was learning life the hard way: theft, drugs, organized crime and shrinking budgets. Its art, culture and traditions kept it vital and unique: its music, dance, fine arts; its fishing, sailing, and Native American history; its festivals and celebrations; its libraries, museums, theaters and public market.
The library is a mixture of formed concrete and garden. Plate glass windows and deciduous trees. As with any such library, entering it is like stepping into a silent movie. On the Thursday afternoon of their meeting, it was a little busier than usual, probably because of the drizzle, Boldt thought. In a city with a winter climate like Seattle's, the library took on a position of great importance, a kind of Mecca for the mind. The faces in these rooms were not pale, nor were they dispirited. The people of Seattle were a vibrant, red-cheeked, resilient bunch, whom Boldt counted as his own. The wet winter weather, extremely temperate considering the latitude, was essential-a few years of drought had taught the locals that much. This weather-or its reputation was what kept the masses away. It was the city's best defense in its increasing battle against Californication.
Boldt entered wearing a baby carrier that supported his son Miles. He joined Daphne at one of the large reading tables on the second floor, as far away from others as possible. She steeled herself for what lay ahead. This was her chance to convince him they had a case-to win him over. That child hanging around his neck represented his other life. She couldn't allow herself to think of it in those terms. Boldt was a friend, certainly. But more importantly, he was a cop with the connections and talent to make this case happen. This was her focus. The image of Cindy Chapman's bleeding incision was lodged in her mind.
On the table in front of her lay three Pendaflex folders and a pile of photocopies from her research at the library. She felt both exhausted and afraid, and the two sensations fed on each other, injecting her with an anxiety she found difficult to overcome. Without him, without some male to support her god, how she resented it-she had little or no chance of convincing Lieutenant Phil Shoswitz to open this investigation.
She wore gray stirrup pants, a white blouse buttoned high, and a crimson scarf to hide her scar. She had her brown-red hair pulled back off her face, a pair of simple silver studs in her ears. Boldt was, as always, disheveled, wrinkled, worn. Khakis, a Tattersall shirt, brown walking shoes with thick rubber hiking tread. He looked tired- probably was-and older than he had last night at The Big Joke. 'Meet my son, Miles,' Boldt said proudly, speaking in a hushed voice, dropping into a chair and putting down the baby bag he carried with him.
'Miles,' he said to his sleeping six-month-old child in the carrier, 'this is the 'other woman' I've told you so much about.'
'He's adorable.'
'I hope he gets his mother's hair.',And her brains,' Daphne said. He glanced down at the folders and then up at her, disapprovingly. 'You're not supposed to take these out of the office,' he declared. 'They aren't ours. Dixie gave them to me,' she said, referring to the chief pathologist of the medical examiner's office. 'He thought they might help convince you that we have something.'
'We?'
'I need a partner, someone with whom Shoswitz will allow me to partner. As of this morning, Dixie is a believer, but I can't very well partner with a pathologist.'
'Wait a minute! I agreed to be a sounding board, that's all. There are a dozen guys who could run with this thing.' His eyes strayed to the folders again, and she realized she was taking the wrong approach with him. For Lou Boldt, it was always the victims-the evidence-that did the talking.
She said, 'You take each one of these autopsies separately, and they don't say much. You add them up, and we've got a problem.'
Boldt leaned forward, his big hand shielding the boy's small head, and dragged the folders across the table. 'Maybe I don't want to read these,' he said, sensing the trap they represented. She willed him to open the top folder-just get him started, that was all it would take. 'Sure you do,' she argued. 'Three of them? You're suggesting a pattern?' he said, thinking aloud. 'Pathology reports-so they're dead. They're connected to what happened to Cindy Chapman, or I wouldn't be here, would I?'
She leaned forward and nudged the files even closer. 'If Dixie came up with these, then the pattern, the similarity between them, has to do with the way in which they were killed.'
'The way they died,' she corrected. 'And who they were or weren't. All three filed as unsolved cases. There may be more.' 'Runaways?'
'They make such nice victims: No one knows they're here; no one knows they're gone.'
'Don't do this to me.'
'To you? This isn't about you.- She ran her red nail down the spine of each folder. 'This is about Glenda Sherman, Peter Blumenthal and Julia Walker.'
He reached for the first folder, but stopped himself once again.
She said, 'How do you prove something like this? He's counting on that-whoever is doing this. He's counting on our paying no attention. These kids are as good as John Does to us. They're nobodies.'
'I want to help, to do what I can, but it's not easy. There are a lot of forces at play here. Even if I did reactivate, there's no saying I'd end up on this particular ticket.'
'I'm not buying that. The lieutenant would do anything to have you back. He'd meet any conditions you laid out. Scheduling, day care, anything. What's the latest with the IRS? I I 'You don't miss a beat, do you?'
The baby spit out the pacifier. Boldt caught it in a reflex only time or instinct had developed. She was in over her head. There were a lot of forces at play. He returned the pacifier to the waiting lips. He placed his huge hand on the boy's tiny head and encouraged him back to sleep. 'You're a natural.'
'Cherish or perish.'
'Maybe you're right. Maybe you shouldn't read these files. I don't want to take you away from him.'
'Smooth. Very smooth.'
'I mean it.'
'I know you mean it. That's the problem.' /'You didn't answer me-about the IRS? I I 'We have to make an appointment. Liz and I. She's our accountant.'
'Is it a big deal?'
'If it means more money, yes, it's a big deal. Liz had a horrible delivery..
'Yes, I heard.'
'It ran into some serious money. Insurance companies are wonderful until you show them the bill. Anyway … You want to remind me that I'm in a financial bind and that Liz and I could use a second income, that I could borrow from the credit union. I know what you're up to. Point taken. Okay?' He scrunched his nose. 'Do you smell something?' He grabbed the bag and stood. 'In a minute everyone in the library will smell it. My son and I are going to pay a little visit to the boy's room.'
'You read these,' she persisted, 'and you realize he's a surgeon. Has to be. That gives us a place to start.' 'A surgeon?' he asked, eyeing the folders.
