Undercurrents

by Ridley Pearson

  ***

  Justin Levitt looked nervous. He greeted Boldt with a hearty handshake and the two sat facing each other. The boy looked tired and Boldt felt responsible. I’ve done to your life what the Cross Killer has done to mine, he thought. And at some point I’ll have to come to grips with that.

  “How you doing?” he asked.

  The boy shrugged. “Okay, I guess. You were right,” he said, hesitating, “about the hero stuff, I mean. Everyone wants to know what I saw. I haven’t told anyone,” he added, “just like I promised. But it’s weird. I haven’t been sleeping so good. We had to disconnect our phone, or change the number, or something.”

  “Why are you here, Justin?” Boldt asked. He had dealt with the boy as an adult before. No reason to change a winning formula.

  “I know what he was carrying. It was cool. My dad came through the kitchen door last night, and I knew right away. You told me some things might come back to me. You were right.”

  “What was it, son?” Boldt was on the edge of his chair. He couldn’t stand the tension. The little bubble began to build inside his chest and he closed his eyes and held it back.

  “Flowers,” the boy said. “He was carrying a bouquet of flowers. My dad brought my mom home a bouquet of roses last night and the way he was holding them—something—it just sort of connected all of a sudden. I could see the guy again. It was rad. For a second I could see the guy again, you know, crossing the backyard, and he was carrying flowers. I know that’s what it was.”

  Silk flowers, Boldt thought. Red silk roses. What better way to get a woman to open her door for you than to pretend to be delivering flowers? She cracks the door… The killer steps inside… And then he pushes the door closed….

  He leaned forward, took Justin’s small head in his hands, and pulled him to him, kissing him on the forehead. “God bless you!”

  “Does it help?” the boy asked, blushing.

  “You bet!”

  The boy became caught up in Boldt’s enthusiasm and began to ramble on about how his father came through the door and how he saw the bouquet, and how he knew he’d seen that somewhere else before, and how he knew it was that night—he claimed he could almost see the killer, could almost see the killer’s face….

  “His face?” Boldt interrupted. “Justin, do you remember what he looked like?”

  The boy seemed frozen in fear. He shook his head side to side slowly, eyes wide, staring at Lou Boldt. He cinched down his eyebrows and looked as if he might cry. “I can’t,” he whined. “I really can’t. I want to. I want to help, but I can’t remember. I just can’t remember.”

  Boldt said calmly, “It doesn’t matter, Justin. Don’t sweat it. You’ve been a big help. This is a big help. This is what we’ve needed.” He stuck out his hand. “Thanks.”

  “Can I stick around a while, Mr. Boldt? You know, watch how you guys do things?”

  “It’s not very exciting, I’m afraid. If your mother says it’s okay, it’s okay with me, but all we really do is move a lot of paper around and talk on the phone. It’s pretty boring, really.” He heard himself say these words and he knew it was all too true. But someone has to do it, he convinced himself. And some of us do it better than others. “Stay here a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him, immediately approached by Mrs. Levitt and Daphne. Mrs. Levitt was a changed woman, demure and courteous. She asked, “Does it help you any? The flowers, I mean?”

  He placed a hand on her arm and thanked her profusely, explaining it was the breakthrough they had been waiting for. He asked them to wait for him and hurried with the information to Shoswitz. He returned five minutes later and led them away from the door, from the boy’s overhearing, and said to both, “I think there’s a good chance he got a look at the killer and can’t bring himself to recall the face. He so much as said so. It occurred to me,” he said to Daphne, “that if the family agreed”—he glanced at Mrs. Levitt and offered a shy smile—“we might try putting him under hypnosis to see what he remembers. What do you think? Are you up to that?”

  Daphne directed herself to Mrs. Levitt. “That’s not for me to decide.”

  Mrs. Levitt studied them both. “Is there any danger to Justin?”

  “No,” Daphne assured her.

  “No drugs or anything?”

  Daphne smiled. “Nothing like that. I just help him to relax, to blank out any anxieties in the way of his memory and see what he can recall.”

  “I wish you’d do that for me,” Boldt teased, drawing a smile from Mrs. Levitt, and a confused look from Daphne.

  “It’s fine with me, if Justin agrees,” Mrs. Levitt said. “If it’ll help…”

  “Let’s give it a try,” Boldt said, “if you’re game,” he addressed Daphne.

  She nodded. Their eyes met.

  Something changed between them in that instant. He was reminded of her telling him that their relationship had long since passed the stage of friendship. He knew she was right, though he still resisted it. A single look between them and he sensed the rules had changed.

  “I’ll call you in when we’re ready,” she explained. “It’s better that way… easier for him to relax.”

  Boldt turned around. Kramer was standing within earshot, pretending to be looking for something on an adjacent desk. Kramer said quite loudly, “He saw the killer’s face?” Heads turned. Boldt took him by the arm and nearly dragged him into the firestair landing where they had some privacy. Kramer broke loose from Boldt’s grip.

  “What the hell, Kramer?”

  “He saw the guy?”

  “Tell the whole department, why don’t you?”

  “How ’bout keeping me informed?”

  “You talk too much.” Boldt immediately regretted having said it.

  “Just what the hell does that mean?” Kramer’s face was scarlet. He pushed Boldt. “Explain it!”

  Boldt shoved him hard and backed him up. He pushed him again. Kramer gave ground. “Don’t fuck with me, Kramer.”

  “I’m part of this investigation, damn it. I’m supposed to be included.”

  “You’re a bullshit artist. You’re a fucking bullshit artist who talked himself onto this task force with no damn qualifications.”

  Kramer took the first swing. He caught Boldt at the base of his neck. Boldt delivered a hard right into the man’s gut, bending him over, and then a left jab to the ribs. The effectiveness of Kramer’s right arm was weakened by the blow and his left was useless. He didn’t know how to fight.

  The door swung open. It was LaMoia. “Shoswitz!” he spit out in warning.

  The two detectives stood up. Kramer brushed his hair to the side. LaMoia came through the door and ran down the stairs out of sight.

  Shoswitz pushed through the door. “Gentlemen?” he said. He stared glumly at them both. “Do we have a problem here?”

  “No problem, Phil,” Boldt said.

  “Just comparing notes,” Kramer acknowledged.

  “Noisy notes,” Shoswitz said. “Anything you’d like to share with me?”

  “Got it handled,” Kramer said.

  Shoswitz held the door open for them. As they passed, Shoswitz said, “Use your heads, guys. I’d hate to toss you out of the game.”

  The two men passed in silence.

  ***

  A few minutes later Daphne reappeared at her office door and ushered them inside and seated them in a businesslike manner. The boy, eyes shut, looked as if he was trying to take a nap.

  Daphne sat down across from Justin; Mrs. Levitt and Lou Boldt sat in chairs to either side of her.

  Daphne asked the boy to take her back to that night and describe what he was seeing. “You’re up in your room,” she said. “Can you see the house across the way?”

  Justin Levitt nodded and said softly, “…The light’s on in her room. I better lock my door… I’m setting up my telescope, same as always.”

  “You can see her now, J
ustin. What’s she doing?”

  “She’s going over to her closet… same as always… taking her clothes off. I can kind of see her shadow on the curtains. I see her ass as she goes into the bathroom. She’s coming out. I see her tits, her pussy, everything!”

  Mrs. Levitt tensed. Daphne interrupted, “Justin, can you tell me please, is she wearing a nightgown?” Boldt nodded—good question, he mouthed.

  “No way! She’s not wearing anything!”

  “And now what?”

  “She’s going over to her bed. Shit, I lost her behind the curtains… oh, man… I can’t see her… there… she’s getting in bed… now she’s turning on the TV.”

  “With the remote control?” Boldt wondered aloud.

  Justin turned his head, his eyelids lifting slightly.

  “Do you mind if Mr. Boldt asks you some questions, Justin?”

  “No. I don’t mind. I like Mr. Boldt a lot.”

  She nodded. “Then you can hear his voice now, can’t you, Justin?”

  “Hi, Justin,” Boldt said.

  “Sure I can. Hi, Mr. Boldt.” He sounded half-asleep.

  Boldt tried to think in present tense. It was disconcerting. They were talking about a woman who was lying naked in a refrigerator with a tag on her big toe. “Does she turn her television on with the remote control?”

  “Sure. She always does.”

  “Always?” Boldt hesitated. “Do you watch her every night, Justin?”

  The boy grinned. “Every night I can.”

  “Can you see the television?”

  The grin uncurled on Justin’s lips. “What do you think? Damn straight, I can.”

  His mother bit down on her lips. The lipstick stained her front teeth red.

  “And what’s she watching?”

  “That stupid cable channel. Nothing good tonight.”

  “Which cable channel?”

  “You know, the one with the weather and the ads and the music. She just uses it for background music, I think.”

  “Was—is she reading a book?”

  “Maybe. I can’t see her now. Just the TV with those stupid ads. Forget it.”

  “Go ahead,” Daphne said.

  Boldt felt himself cringe at the invasion of privacy. He apologized to Croy silently and listened as Justin continued.

  “Forget the telescope. Nothing good tonight…. Hold it… someone’s jumping her fence! A guy. Holy shit, I can’t believe it… the telescope… can’t find him… fuck, I can’t find him…. There… there he is… his hand. He’s carrying something… like a green funnel….”

  “The flowers,” Boldt said.

  “Yeah, flowers,” Justin agreed. “That’s right.”

  Daphne leaned over and whispered to Boldt, “Don’t lead him on.”

  Boldt glanced over at the cassette recorder running on Daphne’s desk. The red light was on and the hubs turning.

  “His face,” Boldt said anxiously. “Can you see his face?”

  “Blue jeans. I lost him…. God damn, I lost the guy! I’m looking out my window now… he’s going around the side of the house….”

  Boldt felt his heart beating faster.

  “Shadows on her curtains. I’m back on the telescope now. She shuts off the TV and she’s getting out of bed. I can see her tits and ass as she heads back toward the bathroom. She’s putting her nightgown on… tying her robe. She’s leaving the room. Can’t see anything.” He started shaking his head violently. Daphne looked over to Boldt and then back to the child.

  “What is it?” Daphne asked in a gentle tone.

  “Shh… Shadows. Oh, God… she’s in trouble. I think she’s in trouble… oh shit!” He sat shaking.

  “It’s okay…” she assured him. But the boy shook his head no.

  Boldt sat stunned. He was there with the boy and Cheryl Croy and he felt cold, numb, and unable to help.

  “He turned off the lights… don’t pull the curtains, asshole! Let me see! Oh, shit. Mom. Dad? Should I tell them… shit… sure thing… that’s a great idea. What am I gonna say? The curtains are blue now. Weird shadows bouncing on the curtains. I better pack it up… I’m putting the telescope away… I can hear Mom coming upstairs. Oh, shit… I run to the door and unlock it just as she knocks….” Mrs. Levitt was crying, tears blurring her mascara and running down her cheeks. “‘I’m changing, Mom,’ I tell her.”

  “Oh, God,” Mrs. Levitt sobbed.

  “Mom?” Justin Levitt asked in a different voice, opening his eyes completely and looking around with a puzzled and dazed look on his face. Staring at Daphne.

  She asked him to close his eyes again and when he did she then brought him out of the hypnotic state slowly. It was obvious she had lost him to the sound of his mother’s voice, and there was no sense in trying to go back.

  Boldt turned off the cassette recorder and pocketed the tape. Daphne looked at him and indicated they should leave Justin to his mother.

  “I wouldn’t have had her in there,” Daphne explained once she was alone with Boldt, “but he’s a minor and I wasn’t sure about the coercion laws. We were lucky to get her consent at all.”

  “You did fine.”

  “We could have had more.”

  “I’d like to try again.”

  “Not today. It wouldn’t do much good today.”

  “You look tired,” he told her.

  “It’s draining. It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it? He’s back there and the rest of us are just sitting there looking on.”

  He nodded. “I felt it too. Yeah.” And added, “It’s good stuff, Daphne. We should have tried this sooner.”

  She shrugged and said fatalistically, “It happened now because it was supposed to happen now.”

  Boldt rolled his eyes. He hated comments like that.

  “The truth is, Lou, it occurred to me last week when you came in and asked me about questioning the boy. I thought about trying light hypnosis then. But the patient has to be willing in order for it to work. All I really do is provide them with an atmosphere that feels safe. It wouldn’t have worked the other day. He has to be ready or it doesn’t work.”

  “I’d like to try again as soon as possible.”

  “We should get his parents’ written consent and do it without them present. We should check with the prosecutor’s office.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have any problems with his parents. She must have seen how much we can learn from him. Will you talk to her?”

  She nodded and pinched fatigue from the bridge of her nose. “Sure,” she said.

  “Dinner later?”

  “Thanks, Lou,” she said, reaching over and touching his arm affectionately. “I don’t think so. Not tonight.”

  “Busy?” he asked somewhat childishly.

  She smiled at him with a patronizing look that offended him. “Later in the week?” she asked, not answering his question.

  “Sure,” he said, his disappointment obvious. “Later in the week.” He held up the tape—“Got to run this by Shoswitz”—then turned, walking down the carpeted corridor past the dozens of office spaces that crowded the room.

  ***

  Shoswitz said to Boldt, “Listen, while you were in there picking his brain, I’ve been going over this flower thing. This isn’t going to be easy. Right? Most of the silk flowers are made in Taiwan. What do you want to bet half the distributors speak Pidgin English and aren’t eager to talk with the police? Probably don’t have their green cards. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

  “How about the florists?”

  “Kramer’s on that. Try this out, we checked the yellow pages: over one hundred ninety florists, more than sixty plant shops, ten floral supply companies, another couple dozen regional wholesalers—we’re talking major-league industry here. Add to that the number of department stores and gift shops that sell silk roses and you can see what we’re up against.”

  “It’s a start. How about the lab? All the flowers can’t be the same, right? Those red fibers may tell us
something.”

  “I’ll ask. You may be right.”

  “I’ll talk to them,” Boldt suggested. “I have to speak with them about those receipts we found on Jane Doe anyway.”

  “Anything new there?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “About this Jane Doe thing,” Shoswitz said. “How come you took that one?”

  “Dixie wanted me to have a look because of the neck wound. He’s right, Phil. It’s awfully similar. I learned my lesson with Jergensen—I’m going after any and every lead I get.”

  “I don’t know, Lou. I don’t know.”

  Boldt lowered his voice. “What would you say if I told you we may be dealing with two killers and that one of them may even be in this department?”

  “I’d say you took a fastball in the head.”

  “No joke, Phil.”

  “Don’t make this more complicated than it already is, Lou. Rule number one. Right?”

  “We have a sneaker print in the carport behind Croy’s, a different print at the DeHavelin site—different sizes, different weights. DeHavelin’s mouth was taped, Croy’s wasn’t. Inconsistencies. Two different people.”

  “Maybe. But as far as I’m concerned, we treat Jane Doe as an unidentified corpse. One step at a time. Right? Don’t go swinging at bad pitches, Lou. Chasing down these silk flowers is going to take awhile. We’ll be lucky to narrow it down to fifty or sixty stores. Christ, it could take us six months to do the paperwork on this. You go doing what you have to do. Who am I to argue? You’re on a roll. Right? Keep it that way. Just don’t get too sidetracked.”

  “I’d like a warrant to get me inside Norvak’s house. If we can get to her canceled checks, maybe we can find out who her dentist is and pull some X rays for comparison.”

  “That’s stretching it, Lou. We both read Abe’s report. He can’t match those shoe prints.”

  “Not true. He’s certain they’re from the same shoe.”

  “He can’t prove it, Lou. Come on. We both read the same report. It won’t convince a judge. We both know that. Abrams made that clear.”

  “You could try.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Sure.” Boldt hesitated. “Remind Kramer to keep all the specifics straight on this flower thing. We sure as hell don’t want to lose that, too. That may be our only link to this guy. We don’t want to blow it.”