The Art of Deception

A Tight Leash

“I can’t tell you absolutely it was him, no.” Matthews wore a blue fleece jacket of LaMoia’s zipped up tightly and the same pair of gray sweatpants. Her hair was back in a clip.

“We’ve upgraded the BOL to an All Points,” Boldt said, watching Bernie Lofgrin’s SID team process LaMoia’s loft.

LaMoia huffed at that. Boldt glared at him. “Sergeant, you have something to contribute?”

“No, sir.”

She’d never felt this kind of tension between the two. “Gen-tlemen,” she said, letting them both know how stupid they were being.

LaMoia said, “Give me an ERT unit and the rest of the night, and I’ll have him in the Box by your second cup of tea, Sarge.”

“It’s not how we play this,” she said, turning them both to face her. “He kept his end of the bargain.” She indicated the key, now labeled in a plastic evidence bag. “So we keep ours by putting Neal into a lineup.”

“The truck driver?” LaMoia said. “You think? He’s worthless, Matthews.”

“But we keep our end of it. If we treat him like an informant-”

“Then we don’t lie to him,” Boldt completed for her, nodding.

“But he’s not an informant,” LaMoia protested. “He’s a goddamned screwball with a bunch of nuts loose.”

Matthews did not care for that evaluation and let him know with a harsh look.

Boldt said, “We chase down this key; we set up the lineup; we keep you under close watch,” he told Matthews.

“It’s not about me,” she said. “I’m the messenger, that’s all.

Maybe an ear; maybe he thinks he can talk to me.”

LaMoia snapped at her. “And maybe he thinks you’re the second coming of Mary-Ann, and he wants to ride off into the sunset with you … or on you, for that matter.”

“That’s uncalled for,” she said.

“How do we know he wasn’t giving the sister a hump out on the boat after dear old dad croaked, and along comes Neal stealing all the fun?”

“We don’t,” she answered honestly.

“What’s with the father?” Boldt asked, effectively ignored by the pair.

“How do we know those fishing ‘accidents’ weren’t the younger brother playing a little rough with sis?”

“We don’t.” She felt right on the edge of yelling at him.

“I rest my case,” LaMoia said.

Boldt repeated, “We work the key. We run the lineup tomorrow, and we keep a tight leash on you. Anyone have a problem with that?”

“He’ll be watching Public Safety,” she announced, “to see if we bring Neal in for the lineup. To see if I keep my end of this.

It’s a means to an end, okay? If we bring Neal in for this lineup, and we play the surveillance right, Walker will come to us. We won’t have to go looking for him.” She added, “We chum the waters, and the fish will come to us.”

LaMoia settled himself with a deep breath.

“Okay with you?” Boldt asked his sergeant.

“Whatever.”

“Is that a yes or a no?” Boldt asked.

LaMoia nodded and met eyes with Matthews in something of a staring contest.

Boldt asked her, “Are you okay here, or would you like to transfer to a hotel?” His tone of voice leaned heavily on the second option.

She raised her eyebrows, passing the question along to LaMoia, who said, “I’ll hold off on the ERT until we see if this lineup baits him. When Bernie’s guys are out of here, she’ll get some sleep. We’re cool here.”

She exchanged glances with Boldt. His eyes were distant and cold, and she felt she’d betrayed him in some unspoken way.

He went home to a wife and kids, but if she wanted to sleep down the hall from a fellow police officer, that was somehow out of bounds. Resentment built up behind her eyes, and she stopped herself from saying anything.

“Okay,” Boldt said, somewhat awkwardly. “She’s staying.”

He took the key and paused at the apartment door. “Get a fresh battery in that wire pack, and make sure you’re wearing it in the morning.”

She nodded, feeling oddly on the edge of tears that he’d think to make sure she was constantly being looked after. “Thanks, Lou,” she called after him.

Either Boldt didn’t hear her or didn’t choose to answer. The difference between the two kept her up most of the rest of the night.