“Welcome,” the three in the van faintly heard Emily say as she greeted Hall. The microphone was some fifteen feet and a room behind her, yet it still grabbed some sound. “Come in,” she encouraged.
“You seen ’em tow cars around here before?” he asked her. “That something they do here up in the city?”
“All the time,” she lied.
“Ticket them, sure. But tow them?”
“They make more money towing them. What do you think it’s about, parking spaces?” she asked cynically. “Besides, what do you care?” she asked. “You’re okay in my drive.”
“One cool woman,” Daphne said under her breath.
“I’ll say,” Gaynes agreed.
One of Lofgrin’s assistants answered Boldt’s call. The boss had gone home. Boldt asked for his home phone. The assistant gave him the number for a car phone, adding, “He just left a few minutes ago.”
Boldt reached Lofgrin, who was in slow traffic on the floating bridge. The sergeant asked him, “Those tree carvings?”
“Yeah?”
“The guy was right-handed or left-handed?”
“I don’t believe we checked for that.”
Surveillance operations were conducted on a need-to-know basis. Lofgrin had no idea that Boldt was in a department-owned repossessed luxury van with his eyes on a possible suspect.
“We shot some macros, with the digital. My people can enlarge them. You want me to look at it, I can have them faxed right here to the car. Otherwise, they should be able to handle it for you.” Boldt had seen the inside of Lofgrin’s department-issued vehicle. Equipped with a Motorola Communication terminal, printer, cellular phone, and fax machine, it served as the Identification Division’s field office at crime scenes.
“I need it ASAP. I’m on a surveillance, Bernie.”
“Give me a number.”
Knowing his might be tied up, Boldt checked if Daphne was carrying her phone. She was. Boldt gave Lofgrin that number.
Lofgrin said, “Traffic sucks. That’s in our favor. I can get some work done. Right back to you.”
Boldt thanked him and disconnected the line. He redialed and was once again connected with the steam-clean van.
Nicholas Hall stepped through the front door, which closed behind him. Emily’s voice grew louder as she led him into the room and toward the microphone.
Daphne sat with her eyes shut, concentrating. She sensed Boldt looking and said softly, “He didn’t like the tow truck.” She added, “I suggest we lose it.”
Without hesitation, Boldt passed this along to dispatch. Less than a minute later the towed vehicle was secure on the flatbed, and the truck pulled away and down the street.
For the next minute, the only radio traffic was between operations dispatch and a pair of ERT officers concealed behind a hedgerow immediately to the north of Emily’s purple house.
One of these ERT officers, identified only by the number seven, checked several times to determine beyond a doubt that the suspect was known to be inside the structure. Then, in what appeared to be nothing more than a shadow moving across the grass, Boldt witnessed this same agent roll out of the bushes and under Hall’s truck. Less than five seconds later, he rolled back out from under the truck and vanished into the darkness beneath a large cedar tree.
“GPS is in place,” this man announced over the radio. Dispatch acknowledged, repeating the statement. A sophisticated location device had been attached to Hall’s truck, enabling police to track its movement and identify its whereabouts. This accomplished, mobile surveillance could then follow blocks behind the suspect’s vehicle, well out of sight. It was a major accomplishment, and one that helped Boldt feel at ease and in control.
“Good move,” Daphne said, eyes still closed. She added, “I’d tell LaMoia to keep the frat party atmosphere to a minimum. Might be wise, in fact, if he packed it up, made the house dark, and left behind whoever needs to be there. Mr. Hall is a control freak,” she announced in a cold, authoritative voice.
Boldt felt a chill down his spine.
She continued, “He’s used to the military way: everything in its place. Everything explainable. He doesn’t like variations on a theme. He listens to country music. He’s macho. He’ll take her as a hostage if he’s pushed.” This came out as a warning. Allowing Emily to conduct her fortune-telling had been a huge risk for Boldt to take. He had trusted Daphne’s assessment of the woman-that they could work with her. Putting a civilian at risk was absolutely forbidden within the department; nonetheless, it was done on rare occasions-with all sorts of legal waivers in place-and this evening was just such an exception.
Daphne explained her reasoning without Boldt asking. “The belt Emily described is a Western thing. Rodeo. That’s country music-that’s a macho attitude: little woman in her place, and all that goes with it. He’s angry about that right hand, angry every day of his life. He believes he’s owed something for that hand. That could be at the heart of all of this-retribution. I don’t trust him with her. We want to make him comfortable in there.”
A phone rang in the heart of her purse. For the first time Boldt noticed a walkie-talkie sitting in her lap and wondered where it had come from. She took the phone from her purse and passed it to Boldt.
The sergeant answered. Lofgrin’s voice said, “Ninety-percent chance whoever carved that tree was right-handed.” Static.
Dismayed, Boldt said, “I owe you.”
Lofgrin answered, “True story.”
Boldt passed the phone back to Matthews.
“It wasn’t him in that tree, was it?” Daphne said.
“What makes you say that?” Boldt asked.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she replied, not answering. She jumped ahead of him. “Garman’s back in the picture.”
Astounded, Gaynes said, “Are you saying Hall is not the arsonist?”
“Where Nicholas Hall fits in is anybody’s guess.” Daphne held up her index finger, halting conversation. She pointed to the radios. “Here we go,” she said.
EMILY: Welcome back.
HALL: I want to check a date with you.
Daphne hoisted the walkie-talkie and said softly, “Like before.”
EMILY: Like before.
Boldt glanced over at Daphne. She answered the look in a calm voice, saying, “Nicholas Hall isn’t the only control freak.” Bobbie Gaynes grinned.
HALL: Yeah, that’s right. Like before.
Daphne said, “Ask him if the dates worked out.”
Boldt asked her, “When did you arrange this?” She chastised him with a look that told him to hold his questions for later.
EMILY: So, did our other sessions work out for you? They did, didn’t they? The stars are a powerful tool, aren’t they?
HALL: It’s next week. Next Thursday. You can check that, right?
Daphne spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Check the charts and tell him it’s a bad day. Something sooner would work better.”
Over the radio Boldt heard Emily stand and open a drawer. There was a rustling of paper; she returned to the table with the microphone and sat down.
EMILY: You have a descending moon next week.
The psychic’s voice sounded ominous and foreboding.
Gaynes quipped, “My moon’s been descending since I passed thirty. My planets too!” She of the perfect body.
Daphne shot her a hot, annoyed look, but Boldt grinned.
HALL: What’s that mean?
EMILY: It’s not a particularly fortuitous time for you to be making a business deal. You said this was business, not pleasure, isn’t that right?
HALL: Does it make a difference?
EMILY: Very much so.
Daphne announced to her colleagues, “This is interesting. How can someone quoting Plato believe this stuff? I think he takes it quite seriously.”
Boldt had no comment. For him the interview with the psychic was only the beginning. They needed hard evidence against Hall. Probable cause to raid the truck and
his residence. Bust it open, a voice inside him urged. The discovery that Hall was unlikely to have carved those trees left Boldt with a pit in his stomach. The wrong guy? He felt impatient and edgy. He didn’t want any hostages, any shooting; he wanted this clean; they had to follow Hall, make something happen. Justify a raid.
HALL: Business, yeah.
“Bingo,” said Daphne. Into the walkie-talkie she said, “Try to draw it out of him.”
EMILY: The kind of business can influence the way the charts are read. Sales for instance. Sales are particularly bad in a descending moon. Negotiations, however, don’t suffer so much. You could negotiate next week, if you’re careful. But if it’s sales, I would suggest you advance the date.
( Paper rustling ) The next two to three days would be far superior.
( Pause ) Is there a date in that range you’d like me to check?
HALL: ( Pause ) How come you didn’t mention this before? Last time? This moon thing.
EMILY: There was no descending moon involved. Your chart was good last time. Not as good this time. ( Pause ) Is it sales then? It influences the way I read the charts.
HALL: Sales. Yeah. You could say that.
Daphne said into the walkie-talkie, “Well done. Number of people involved. Location.”
EMILY: ( Clears voice ) You have a good Mars and Venus. But Pluto is way off…. That says something about numbers. There are not a lot of people involved in this sale, are there? ( Pause ) One other. Am I right about that?
HALL: This shit amazes me.
EMILY: Cars. Darkness. Lots of cars. Parked cars. Am I seeing that clearly? Loud noises. What’s that noise? Roaring, like animals.
HALL: Jets.
EMILY: Of course, the airport. ( Pause ) You work at the airport.
HALL: Something like that. You fuckin’ amaze me.
EMILY: There’s a man, isn’t there? There’s another man involved in this sale. One other man.
HALL: Whatever.
EMILY: But not a group of people. That’s important.
HALL: Not a group.
Boldt sat forward. “The airport drug deal the boy called in.”
Bobbie Gaynes said, “Well, at least it’s not a militia or something like that. At least it’s not another Oklahoma City.”
“He trusts her,” Daphne stated. “He’s displaying a great deal of trust in her.”
EMILY: The next day or two. Three at the outside. I wish I had better news.
HALL: You missed something last time.
( Pause. ) I nearly didn’t come back to you because of that.
EMILY: ( Long pause ) I’m seeing something outside of your business arrangement. Something unexpected. Something missing, perhaps. You lost something?
HALL: It was stolen.
Daphne said anxiously, “I don’t know what this is about.”
Boldt answered, “I bet our friend Ben does.”
Daphne shot him a surprised look.
EMILY: Money.
HALL: Damn right.
EMILY: A lot of money.
HALL: Fuck yes, a lot of money. It was a boy. A boy stole it. Right out of my truck.
( Pause ) I want that money.
Daphne met Boldt’s eyes. “Ben,” she said agreeing with him.
Boldt nodded. “No wonder he’s scared of us. He’s worried we’re after him.”
“She knows the whole story. Ben told her,” Daphne said, sounding a little wounded.
Boldt worried about her relationship with the boy. “Or she got Ben to steal the money for her. Maybe it’s not the first time,” Boldt suggested.
“No,” Daphne countered, “I don’t believe that.”
Boldt, thinking aloud, said, “He’s Air Force. It wasn’t drugs. It was rocket fuel.” The silence in the van was shattered by the speaker.
HALL: I thought you could see this shit! Why didn’t you warn me?
EMILY: You asked me about a particular date. That was all.
HALL: Well, now I’m asking about complications. The unforeseen shit. I don’t need any of that.
EMILY: And I’m warning you that the longer you allow the descending moon-
HALL: Fuck the descending moon! What about complications?
Daphne said, “I don’t like the hostility. He’s in a mood swing here. Something triggered that swing.” Into the walkie-talkie she said, “Placate him. Go easy. Be vague. I’m not liking what I’m hearing.” To Boldt-the walkie-talkie back in her lap-she said, “Can we kick it if we have to?”
Boldt felt his scalp prickle with sweat. He didn’t want it heading in that direction.
HALL: What about if I pull it off in the next few days? ( Pause ) What if I can’t get it together in the next few days?
EMILY: You can get it together. The stars support success. ( Pause. ) The moon isn’t good for some time.
HALL: How long?
EMILY: How long?
Daphne depressed the talk button. “Make it a long time. Force this on him.”
EMILY: The moon won’t ascend for another month.
HALL: What?
EMILY: This isn’t a good month for you where business is concerned. Love, on the other hand, is on the rise.
Gaynes said, “This woman is a piece of work!”
EMILY: No more complications if you act quickly. This boy, whoever he is, won’t bother you again. You frightened him.
HALL: He’s got my money. ( Pause ) Listen … Can you help me find him? ( Pause ) There would be a bonus. ( Pause ) He’s kinda disappeared.
Boldt said excitedly, “We can use this.”
“No!” snapped Daphne.
Boldt held his eyes on her, his determination. “It takes Ben out of the loop and just might give us our probable cause.”
Daphne, eyes still on Boldt said into the walkie-talkie, “If you know where that money is, sweetheart, it’s time for a vision. You tell him. We all want Ben out of this.”
Collectively, they held their breath as they awaited Emily’s decision.
EMILY: I see a brown house. Small.
Relief flooding him, Boldt said, “There we go!”
HALL: That’s the boy’s place!
EMILY: The money is there. ( Pause ) A second story?
HALL: ( Sounding anxious ) Yes!
EMILY: The boy’s room. A box. A plastic box. Wait a second … ( Pause ) Rectangular.
HALL: A cigar box.
EMILY: No.
HALL: A toy safe? A lockbox? Something like that?
EMILY: A lunch box? ( Pause ) Ah! There it is clearly. It’s a video. A box for a video tape.
HALL: ( Excited; the sound of a chair moving ) How much?
EMILY: What?
HALL: How much do I owe you?
Daphne said into the device, “Let him go.”
EMILY:
Ten for the reading.
HALL: I’m giving you twenty. ( Pause) I’ll try for sometime in the next three days.
EMILY: Yes. Better than next week.
HALL: I’ll be back to check with you.
Bobbie Gaynes asked, “Do we follow?”
Boldt answered, “No, we lead. We know exactly where he’s going. Sooner or later he’s going after that money.”
Daphne said, “That personality? He’ll go for the money right away. Bet on it.”
38
Boldt planned to take Hall into custody at Ben’s house.
He confirmed that Hall’s residence-identified as a mobile home in Parkland-was already under surveillance. A backup team was put on standby.
Hall left Emily’s, the object of a dozen pair of eyes, climbed into his truck, and drove away while Homicide, ERT, and bomb squad officers looked on. Many of these people experienced disappointment, the accumulated adrenaline of the past hour finding no outlet.
The blue-and-white truck drove down 21st and turned left on Yesler.
With Gaynes driving, the brown recreational van negotiated a U-turn and headed north on 21st, right on Spruce, and right again on
23rd. The police radio identified the truck as paused for a light at Yesler and 23rd.
The police van drove through the intersection heading south. Boldt spotted the truck to his right, four cars back, waiting for the light.
“There he is,” Boldt told the others. They drove past. Boldt held him in sight as long as possible. He scrambled for a map.
As expected, a moment later the blue-and-white truck turned south on 23rd.
Boldt cautioned Gaynes, “He could be heading south to Parkland-”
“He’s not,” Daphne interrupted.
“We want to continue south until he commits,” Boldt finished, annoyed by Daphne’s confidence.
Boldt found himself willing Hall to turn left on Jackson in the direction of the Santori house. His muscles ached from holding himself so tight. He caught himself grinding his teeth.
Dispatch announced, “Suspect vehicle turning east on Jackson Street East.”
“Told ya,” Daphne said proudly.
Gaynes checked the outside mirror. “He’s too far back. I’ve lost him.”
Checking a street sign, Boldt instructed her, “Left on Norman.”
The surveillance car following Hall at a distance reported in. Boldt directed them to remain on 23rd and pass Jackson. “It’s too small a street,” he told Daphne and Gaynes. “He might spot them.”
Jackson was a dead end, up a steep hill; the Santori home backed up to Frink Park.
Boldt ordered the surveillance car left on Dearborn, two blocks behind where the van turned. The van and the surveillance car then ran parallel to each other on two adjacent avenues, the van turning right one block south of Jackson and the surveillance car, one block north. A third unmarked vehicle was told to park with a view of the intersection of Jackson and 23rd.
ERT was deployed into Frink Park, in case Hall fled on foot.
Dispatch confirmed that the vehicle came to a stop a half block from the Santori home.
With the suspect effectively boxed in, Boldt checked his weapon and sat forward to leave the van.
“I’m coming with you,” Daphne said, removing her weapon from her purse. Before Boldt could contradict this, she added, “I outrank Bobbie. No offense,” she said to the woman, a veteran homicide detective. “Lou,” she said, in a gentler voice, “I need to be reading this guy from the word go. If I’m there at the bust, it gives us a leg up.”
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