Middle Of Nowhere

CHAPTER 51

Waiting for the 9:10 ferry to Bainbridge in the enormous State Ferry parking lot, his cellular voyeuristically held to his ear, Boldt agonized as he overheard the events that led up to the struggle between Daphne and Flek, Daphne's calm pleading that followed and the final crashing of glass that had silenced all discussion. Only the faint groan of the car engine told him the line was still active. He couldn't be sure if the car had been wrecked or if Flek was still driving.

Movement in his rearview mirror attracted him, or perhaps it was the magnetism of the man he saw there, walking with a limp through the light rain. The passenger door came open and a bruised and battered John LaMoia climbed into the car painfully. He glanced over at his lieutenant-everything below his eyebrows and above his chin a mass of swollen black and purple and yellow-orange skin-and said through a wired-shut jaw, "Couldn't let you have all the fun."

"Now you've screwed up everything," Boldt said, "because now I've got to drive you back to the hospital instead of boarding this ferry."

"No way," the man mumbled, his words barely discernable. "Haven't been on a ferry in years." He added, "Don't worry-I'm not feeling any pain, Sarge. Matter of fact, I feel pretty great."

Boldt's ear adapted to the odd speech impediment brought on by the man's wired jaw. He sounded halfsouthern, half-drunk. Medicated to the hilt.

Boldt handed him the phone and said, "No talking into it, but what do you hear?"

LaMoia pressed his other ear shut, though the move was clearly painful. "Eight cylinder. Twin barrel maybe. Bad pipes."

Boldt was not thinking in terms of a gear head. He had wanted a straight answer. "But it's a car. Right?"

"You tell me."

"A car engine. Idling or running?"

"This baby's on the road, Sarge. Three thousand RPM and cruising." LaMoia added, "What channel is this anyway? SportTrax?"

"She left her cell phone on."

"You told me," LaMoia reminded him.

"But it's still on. There was a struggle, and no one's doing any talking." Boldt spoke frantically. "I made the call to Poulsbo PD from a pay phone. Told them they couldn't use any radios because this guy's a scanner. They have one plainclothes detective over there. He was going to sit on the Liberty Bay Grill with some radio cars nearby as backup. Maybe we've still got a shot at him."

The ferry lights approached.

"Finally," Boldt said.

"No chopper, I take it," LaMoia surmised.

"All tied down for the night. One pilot was available, and he said with drive time and prep it would be an hour and a half before he'd be off the ground. Ferry's thirty-five minutes. I opted to have the car once I'm over there."

"Hang on a second, Sarge. We got some action here. This guy's pulling off the road-some place bumpy." LaMoia handed the cell phone back to Boldt who listened intently.

"He's pulling over," Boldt told his sergeant. "Stopping… Oh, thank God!" he said with a little too much emotion.

"What?" LaMoia begged.

"She's groaning. It's her! She's alive!" A loud scratching. The line went dead. Boldt knew it was not just silence on the other end, but a full disconnect. "Oh, no…" he moaned. He passed the phone to LaMoia, who jerked it to his ear.

"She may be alive," LaMoia said, "but this baby's dead."

"He disconnected the call."

"Or the battery went dead," LaMoia suggested. "How long has that thing been on anyway?" He added angrily, "And how the fuck did she find this skel ahead of you anyway, Sarge? What the hell's that about?"

"I found him," Boldt answered. "She just took the call. Flek's cell phone records," he said, the words catching in his throat like chicken bones. "I… had… them… work… their… call… logs."

"Sarge?" LaMoia knew that tone of voice in his boss.

"That's why she left the call open, John. It wasn't so I could listen in, it was so I could find her."

"Sarge?" LaMoia repeated.

"Get Gaynes over to AirTyme Cellular in the Columbia Building. A guy named Osbourne. Wake him up if we have to. Escort him, I don't care. Just get him downtown. Now!" He added in dry whisper, "Now, before her battery dies… and she along with it."