No Witnesses

THIRTY-EIGHT

At Owen Adler’s recommendation they met at Place Pigalle because it was small and intimate and offered a stunning water view. Boldt noticed Daphne’s new ring immediately, but he said nothing because he was not sure Liz had seen it yet. But of course, she had. Liz did not miss much when it came to Daphne Matthews. The ring was both handsome and elegant, though not showy, and Boldt admired Adler for that.

Boldt had accepted the invitation reluctantly, not wanting to leave his home for any reason, not comfortable with the idea of socializing with the two of them, but he had never been good at denying Daphne much of anything. She had gotten him into this investigation, and now, in her own way, she was letting him out.

Boldt asked, “How do you interpret Fowler’s statement?”

In a plea bargain to lessen the charges, Kenny Fowler had agreed to cooperate by giving a written statement. One of Daphne’s jobs was to analyze the psychology behind it. “From the day he left SPD he told all of us he was going to have his own agency. Working for Owen, he spent as much money as he made-actually more most of the time; he lived beyond his means. He felt inferior-Howard Taplin’s go-and-fetch-it. He claims that the Caulfield case brought all those feelings home. That he suddenly saw a way to make enough money to strike out on his own. He knew the look of the faxes, the language, and the tone-he could imitate the killer and extort money. If people kept dying, he could use this to apply more pressure.”

“But he withheld information,” Boldt reminded.

“He lied to all of us,” Adler snapped. “If it was a matter of money-” but he cut himself off, clearly too upset to discuss it.

Daphne continued hesitantly, “The statement says nothing about the original New Leaf cover-up, or framing Caulfield on the drug charges. I suspect that his intention all along was to find Caulfield himself, before we did, and to take him out. That way he could continue the extortion while the New Leaf connection to the killings remained unproven, probably hoping it would fade away.” She looked out at the view. “He exploited everything and everyone around him.” She clearly included herself in this. Liz poked her husband in the leg, her actions hidden beneath the table. Boldt asked no more questions.

Liz changed the subject, asking questions about Corky, and Adler brightened and told a series of amusing stories.

He ordered champagne, and Liz changed hers to a San Pellegrino because of the child growing inside her. This announcement won several toasts and more talk of Corky, and naturally led into Adler’s blushing, tongue-tied inability to speak, and Daphne’s finally announcing their engagement. She confessed, “It may be the only engagement in history to be consummated not by a kiss, but a handshake.”

Boldt and Daphne met eyes briefly, and he saw in hers a terrified joy that he had longed to see there. Far out on the water the ferries came and went, their lights blurred in reflection. Daphne drank nervously and started telling stories on Boldt, reminding him of things that he pretended to have forgotten.

Adler drank to Liz for the time-trap software, and to Boldt for everything he had done, and to his fiancee “for finding the truth.” No one mentioned Harry Caulfield by name. Howard Taplin was cooperating with authorities, but he received no toasts that night. Boldt said a silent toast for Danielson and Striker-one recovering, the other facing a difficult trial and a messy divorce.

In all, it was an awkward evening for Boldt. He fought Adler for the check and lost, and this seemed significant to him. He drove home in silence with his wife napping in her seat, and when they pulled up to the garage, her eyes still closed, Liz said, “She’ll always be your friend. It won’t change that. You’ll see.”

He had no way to follow that. He got the door for her and they held hands on the way to the kitchen. After checking in on Miles, Liz paid the baby-sitter while Boldt tended to the day’s mail piled by the kitchen phone. Among the letters was a brown package, and like a good cop, Boldt treated it suspiciously, chastising himself once he read the return address.

“I wondered what that was,” Liz said, as her husband opened it carefully. “But I didn’t touch it,” she added. Boldt hated the precautions, he resented so much of his public service. The package was incredibly light and was marked FRAGILE, with a series of bright red stickers.

The note was on personalized stationery and read simply,

For your boy. I forget his name. Did you tell me it? I don’t remember. It seemed a shame to let it go to waste. I know he’s too young. But perhaps someday he can finish this.-Betty

Inside, he found the partially completed model of the Space Shuttle.