The First Victim

CHAPTER 17

Bobbie Gaynes entered Boldt’s office mid-Saturday morning without knocking and pulled up a chair while her lieutenant placed a pencil mark in the margin of the report he was reading in order to mark his spot.

He looked up and saw his son’s crayon artwork hung on the glass wall that looked out on the hallway. It hung there to add color, to relieve the monotony of gray that some interior designer had imposed on the place, and to remind him of his priorities. Liz did not like him working weekends. His son’s self-portrait fluttered as a pair of detectives hurriedly passed the office door.

‘‘Go ahead,’’ Boldt said, knowing in advance that the topic of discussion was crane rentals. Having lost the Visage to a homicide likely to go down as an accident, Boldt had all but given up that leg of the investigation, assigning Gaynes to investigate crane rentals and possible links to the barge and tug that had attempted the failed transfer.

‘‘You just don’t own a crane. Okay?’’ Gaynes advised. ‘‘It’s not something you keep in your garage. You rent them or lease them.’’ She referred to her notes. ‘‘There are five outfits between here and Tacoma that rent or lease the kind of equipment capable of lifting a container.’’

Boldt had brought her up to Homicide single-handedly, breaking the gender barrier for the first time and landing her into a tough assignment. She had rallied behind the challenges, required to repeatedly prove herself, but never holding a grudge. She did some of the best police work on the fifth floor. The latest attack on her had her gay and in a relationship with an ousted detective. It was an invented story meant to smear her. The dust had yet to settle.

‘‘A woman’s gone missing. A reporter, no less.’’

She eyed him curiously. ‘‘You want to rent one of these cranes, you need bonding, all sorts of insurance, you name it.’’

‘‘She was investigating something to do with the containers,’’ he said. ‘‘The brass is having conniptions. It’s all about how the press will tear us apart if something has happened to her and we don’t find her first.’’ He added, ‘‘For them, that is. For us: we’ve got a missing persons who may have busted open this investigation.’’

‘‘You want this?’’

Boldt said, ‘‘I need the short form. We do, or do not have record of a rental the night of that storm?’’

‘‘The paperwork to prove it? No. A rental? Maybe. I’m going to need some manpower.’’

‘‘If you’re pulling for OT, you’ve got it.’’ He was not fond of his new role as administrator, guidance counselor and disciplinarian-all of which were required of a lieutenant. He often felt like little more than a file drawer between his captain, Sheila Hill, and the sergeants and squads that worked beneath him.

‘‘Third place I try, a place called Geribaldi’s Equipment, I make the guy behind the counter real nervous with mention of cash rentals that bypass the paperwork. He’s sweating bullets by the time I’m through explaining how aiding and abetting works in the eyes of the law. Takes me outside for a smoke. Says how maybe a telescoping crane went out the morning of that storm that he knows for a fact it didn’t make it into the books because when he tried to rent out the same crane, it didn’t happen to exist in the yard. His manager blamed the screwup on him-but also told him not to worry about it. Said maybe the paperwork had been misplaced.’’

‘‘So there’s no proof a crane went out,’’ Boldt pressed. ‘‘What’s the good news?’’

‘‘I’ve got the manager’s name: Zulia. I was thinking maybe we check the guy’s bank accounts for an extra deposit or two.’’ She added, ‘‘I’d like to sit on his crib, the yard, monitor his bank transactions. I could use a couple guys for surveillance. Maybe we have a little chat with him in the Box.’’

‘‘Okay, let’s do it.’’

‘‘First we gotta find him. He has taken an unexpected vacation.’’

Boldt said, ‘‘Rental shops are easy targets for theft. All that equipment sitting outside. Protection makes sense.’’

Gaynes asked, ‘‘Mama Lu?’’ She knew what Boldt was thinking when others seldom had a clue.

Boldt said, ‘‘If she wants someone found, I imagine it’s only a matter of time.’’

‘‘In that case, you might mention our missing reporter.’’

‘‘Point taken.’’

‘‘You’re looking for a world of hurt, you go opening that door,’’ LaMoia said, interrupting from the doorway. He added, ‘‘McNeal lifted some videotapes from our girl’s apartment last night. I’m thinking they gotta be relevant to my investigation. She’s not in the mood to share and claims she’ll hide behind first amendment privileges if we come after them.’’

‘‘How do we know this?’’ Gaynes asked.

Boldt didn’t answer her. Instead he said to LaMoia, ‘‘We go after the tapes anyway. Find a judge that’s running for reelection. Let him figure it out.’’

‘‘Waste of time,’’ LaMoia said.

Boldt conceded. ‘‘Okay, so we work the cranes. Mama Lu’s a businesswoman. She knows when to cut her losses. She doesn’t want us dragging in every gang member for questioning. That makes her look weak.’’

‘‘She also cuts throats, Sarge,’’ LaMoia warned. ‘‘Or at least her soldiers do.’’

‘‘Set up a meeting,’’ Boldt requested.

‘‘I don’t think this is so smart,’’ LaMoia complained.

‘‘Set it up,’’ Boldt repeated sharply.

The artwork rustled on LaMoia’s way out.

‘‘Surveillance of the rental place is approved,’’ Boldt told Gaynes. ‘‘Work it out with Special Ops.’’