Pied Piper

CHAPTER 9

The Town Car stuck out, black and gleaming, showroom fresh. It was parked out front of Boldt’s home, beneath a street light, ostentatious and isolated, as if none of the other neighborhood cars, unwaxed and dull from a winter of rain, wanted to socialize with it. Boldt slowed the Chevy as he drove past, turned into his drive and pulled to a stop.

Gary Flemming sat at the kitchen table with Miles on his lap, speaking Spanish to Marina who was doing dishes. Sarah, in an outrigger high chair, had a cherub face smeared in pulverized pears. Caught in the midst of a euphoric laugh, Marina glanced toward Boldt, registering disappointment as if he’d spoiled the party.

Flemming put down Sarah’s baby spoon-it was Boldt’s joy to feed his daughter in the evenings-and met eyes with Boldt, who immediately felt uncomfortable in his own home. He wished Miles would get off the man’s lap. Sensing this, Flemming eased the boy down to the floor. Miles ran for Boldt’s leg and attached himself. Flemming wiped Sarah’s chin with her bib.

“Mr. Flemming with FBI,” Marina explained, eyes to the dishwater.

“Yes, we’ve met,” Boldt said.

“A handshake at a crime scene is hardly what I would call an introduction,” Flemming said. “You’ll pardon my intrusion, but I’ve seen nothing but hotel rooms and offices for the past six months. I thought we should meet.”

Boldt motioned reluctantly toward the living room. There was something not right about Flemming coming here. Marina stole another glance toward her employer. Miles clawed to be held. Boldt hoisted him into his arms, stopped at the high chair and took Sarah as well.

Standing, Flemming made the chair look small and the kitchen table like something from a kid’s set. The two men sat across from each other, Boldt on a couch. Miles bailed out and went running back to the kitchen. Boldt held Sarah in his arms and cleaned her up with his handkerchief.

Flemming’s voice resonated in the small space. “You know, when we looked toward Seattle, we were quite convinced that you would be behind the wheel of this one.”

“It’s good to be wrong once in a while.”

“I’ve offended you by coming into your home. I apologize. Your housekeeper offered. I shouldn’t have accepted. As I said, the hotels. …”

“Surprised is all.”

“Fresh start?”

“Sure,” Boldt agreed, but he didn’t like the individual attention. He didn’t like this man being in his house at all.

“Ten kids, six months and few leads. You’ve worked some big cases here. Worked them successfully, I might add. That’s why we were so convinced this would be yours.”

“But it’s not.”

“On paper at least.”

“It’s not my case.”

“An intelligence officer at crime scenes?”

“I was asked to have a look around, that’s all.”

“My point exactly,” Flemming said. “And I like to know the players.”

“Am I a player?” Boldt asked rhetorically, finishing with Sarah’s hands. “I suppose so. But on the bench. I doubt I’m worth your time.”

“In the bullpen is more like it,” Flemming corrected. “Third base coach, maybe. I can see you standing out there waving LaMoia toward home.”

“He’s good. You’ll find that out if you give him a chance.”

“You see me as a control freak.”

“You are a control freak,” Boldt corrected. “You made that point at the four o’clock, from what I’m told.”

“As Intelligence officer, you’ve run background checks on me and Hale and Kalidja. Anything I can clarify?”

“As Intelligence officer, I’ve waited for crime scene reports that have never arrived. Interviews with the parents. Local cop reports. You want to do this alone, in a vacuum, that’s your business, Special Agent. You want to look down your nose at us, that’s your business. A pitcher can’t win a game all by himself.”

“Then you like baseball.”

“Hate it. But my CAP lieutenant loved the game. Lived for it. Softball. PAL league, some city intramural stuff. The analogies kind of wear off on you.”

“It’s a great game. And your point is taken. I have no intention of fighting this battle alone.” He hesitated before saying, “I just like to make it clear where I stand.”

“And that is where? In the corner? At the head of the table? Where?”

“I had hoped that you would be lead. The Cross Killer, that product tampering thing-you know this kind of pressure. There’s a difference that you and I understand between being a good cop and doing good work under unusual circumstances. Between a real-time case and working a dead body.”

Boldt didn’t want to be grouped with Flemming. The man was far too sure of himself, far too in control for someone with ten kids on his mind. He said, “Maybe you’re good with that kind of pressure, but it crushes the life out of me. Makes me crazy. Honestly it does. I can’t sit around with that kind of pressure on me, so I act. That’s just the way it works with me.”

“And me.” Flemming said, “If you had connected a kidnapping here to one in a small town in the middle of the state, what would you have said at the four o’clock?”

Boldt nodded. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t stonewall reports. If the catcher isn’t sending the pitcher signals, he can’t expect to catch every pitch.”

Flemming smiled. Huge white teeth. Dark black skin with peach-colored lips. It was slightly too friendly for Boldt, an unwanted intimacy. “Stonewalling? You think?”

“I think. And I have to wonder why. We know about the penny flute now. The AFIDs. What’s to hide?”

He nodded. “Let me talk to Kay Kalidja.” He smiled again. “You see, you are a part of this one. I took that for granted, LaMoia having been on your squad all those years. You have much more influence on this case than you give yourself credit for. Will you support me?”

Sarah arched her back and struggled for a new position. Boldt held her facing out. He leaned and kissed the top of her head. He loved the smell of the very top of her head. She kicked, enjoying the kiss. He gave her another.

“I understand you,” Boldt said, “perhaps better than the others. I understand that kind of pressure. And I don’t envy it.”

Flemming stared at him.

Boldt said, “You came for my advice, I think.”

Flemming grinned.

“And my advice is to avoid Mulwright, work with LaMoia and trust that we want this as badly as you do. Sheila Hill will be consumed with whose collar it is. Maybe you are too, for all I know, but I doubt it. And they don’t know that about you. They think that by trying to control it all, you want it all for yourself, rather than understanding you just want it done right.”

“Perhaps you could explain that to them,” Flemming said. This was what he had come for-Boldt’s support in the trenches.

“It wouldn’t do any good. You’ll have to convince them, not me. We don’t have to love each other; we just have to work together. What you may not know is that this is not some town in the middle of the state. This is a good team you’ve got to work with. What you do with it is your decision.”

Flemming pulled his substantial weight out of the couch. “They should have made you lead in spite of your transfer.”

“I’m okay with the way things are,” Boldt said, hugging Sarah a little tighter.

“Sorry about your wife,” Flemming said. “Hope she’s better.”

“She is,” Boldt said.

He watched the Town Car pull away from the curb and drive off. He wanted to see it for himself. Wanted to make sure Flemming was gone. He checked the kitchen for bugs. Checked the phone as well. He trusted Gary Flemming about as far as he could throw him.