Pied Piper

CHAPTER 68

LaMoia cursed the rain from behind the steering wheel of his rental. It wasn’t simply rain; rain he could handle; rain he was used to. Anyone who had lived in Seattle for fifteen years knew rain on a first-name basis. But this? The sky blackened like someone had thrown a switch and water fell in sheets, like a fire hose aimed at the ground, fell so hard that when it struck the hot pavement, droplets bounced up a foot or more before falling again and converting to a layer of steam.

Water pounded the roof of the car so loudly that LaMoia could not hear the radio.

The downpour cleared the sidewalks. Umbrellas made vain attempts to withhold the deluge; the roadway flooded as gutters roared like rivers. LaMoia saw only a blurred silver film. To turn on the wipers of a parked car was to give his position away.

Through the blur, he saw Boldt running toward his Volvo. He pulled the wagon up close to the building, and the woman he assumed to be Crowley braved the downpour to help Boldt and Daphne get the child seat into the car. Crowley then sprinted to the Taurus, opened the trunk and withdrew a dark overnight bag before scrambling into the front seat.

The only movement on the street came from the windshield wipers of a pair of cars that had double-parked to allow the rain to let up. These double-parked cars in turn blocked others parked legally.

Boldt’s rental edged forward out onto the flooded street, one of the only cars moving.

LaMoia caught another set of wipers moving-this from one of the blocked cars.

Crowley’s Taurus backed up, but then paused as the rain fell even harder.

LaMoia snagged the cell phone as he saw a man wearing a trench coat hurry from the blocked car and pound on the window of the car that was blocking him. This man motioned frantically for the double-parked car to move so he could pull out from his own parking space.

The driver took the hint. The double-parked car rolled.

So did the Taurus.

LaMoia fired up his engine as Crowley’s Taurus backed up and pulled out into the street.

The phone rang through and Boldt’s voice answered, “Brehmer.”

“Can you talk?” LaMoia followed out into the street. Cars that had pulled over were moving again. The cell phone reception was awful.

“She’s smacked up pretty badly,” Boldt told him, attempting to supply identifying features. “Her left eye …” Static sparked loudly in LaMoia’s ear. “A scarf …”

LaMoia interrupted, “We got ourselves a problem, a visitor. You copy that? We’ve got ourselves a stick in the spokes. You there?”

“I’m here.”

“It’s Hale.”

An enormous flash of lightning occurred simultaneously with a crack of thunder that shook the car. The cell phone went dead.

LaMoia turned the wipers to high. Couldn’t see a damn thing.