Undercurrents

by Ridley Pearson

  The night air was chilly. It cut through Boldt’s jacket, stinging him. Boldt paused in a copse of trees as he neared the house, and rubbed his arms to keep warm.

  Boldt edged his way to the fence, slipped through the gate, and stayed close to the house. He rounded the corner by the barbecue. He could hear the metallic clicking of tools. Through the cracks in the decking above, Boldt could see the thin yellow beam of light from a penlight. The man was holding it in his mouth, aiming it at the door.

  Boldt withdrew his gun, suddenly regretting he had no backup. The trainer was nearly twice as thick as himself, certainly twice as strong. He held the gun aimed toward the sky and moved cautiously and quietly toward the redwood stairs on the far side.

  He heard the sliding door grumble when it opened, and the light disappeared from overhead, making it more difficult for Boldt to see. The man was inside.

  Boldt hurried to the stairs and climbed them nearly silently, reaching the deck quickly. From what he could make out in the darkness, the trainer had compromised the security device by unscrewing it from the wall and applying some jumper cables and a small battery. He had left the door open for a quick exit, if needed. Boldt reached the open door and stopped, listening intently. He couldn’t make out any of the hollow sounds, couldn’t tell if the man was five feet away or down a hallway. He stepped inside and opened his eyes wide.

  He saw the play from the penlight as it barely illuminated a hallway that ran from the kitchen to points unknown. Boldt stepped forward in the darkness and continued on.

  As he reached the hallway he saw the light again, this time coming from a bedroom at the end of the hall. Boldt moved silently toward the bedroom door and lowered his gun. The light caught his attention as it reflected in the medicine-cabinet mirror. The man was searching Betsy Norvak’s bathroom. Boldt was willing to give him a few minutes to find whatever it was he was looking for. After several seconds DeVito’s face appeared in the mirror, and, had he been able to see in the dark, he would have seen Boldt staring back at him.

  Again he rummaged through the contents of the medicine cabinet, this time popping caps and inspecting the contents of the few pill bottles, the penlight held awkwardly in his mouth.

  With a vial of pills open, he stepped toward the toilet, and that was when Boldt stopped him by switching on the bedroom light. “Don’t move,” Boldt said.

  The man’s eyes revealed he was still contemplating flushing the pills down the toilet, but Boldt waved the gun and stopped the man. He told the trainer to put the vial down at his feet and turn around, hands against the medicine-cabinet mirror.

  “Were you waiting, or did you follow me?” the man asked.

  “Followed,” Boldt said. “What’s going on, Sam? You want to tell me, or you want to take a trip downtown?”

  “You’re Homicide. I’ll tell you right now, I didn’t kill no one.”

  Boldt approached him cautiously and patted him down. The man had several screwdrivers and wires in his back pocket. Boldt removed them. “Pretty handy with those wires,” he said.

  “I put the system in for her after we installed her workout equipment. She’s got five grand in that room downstairs.”

  “Jack of all trades.”

  “A man’s got to earn a living.”

  Boldt kept him leaning against the wall. He switched on the bathroom light and picked up the pills. “What do we have here?”

  “Maybe I better talk to a lawyer. You already got me on a B&E. I don’t need no more trouble.”

  “I can read you your rights, Sam, or we can talk and see if maybe we can make a trade.”

  There was a long silence. “I don’t know, man.”

  “You dealing drugs, Sam? That carries a stiff penalty in this town.”

  “Ah, man…”

  “Talk to me, Sam. I’m losing my patience.”

  “They’re steroids. You come in asking all sorts of questions about Betsy and I can just picture it. That broad wanted too much gain too quickly. I figure you’re there because she fucked up and put herself down for the long count. That makes me an accessory, right? Like I said, I think it’s time for a lawyer.”

  “I’m not going to stop you from seeking counsel if that’s what you want, but I doubt Betsy Norvak died from steroids, if she’s dead at all. That’s not why I was there.”

  “Shit.”

  “Tell me about it, Sam, and maybe we can both go home without a lot of paperwork.”

  “What’s to tell? A bunch of the people at the club are real into bulking, you know. They come to me all the time for beans—steroids—and I kind a got a little side business going. Listen, if it’s not me, they’ll get ’em somewhere else. I don’t deal in anything heavy. No high-dose stuff. Betsy, a few of the other girls, were into a low-grade thing. Just enough to tone them up. A couple of the guys are into slightly stronger stuff. Nothing heavy. Thing about it is, this brand name… I’m one of the only dudes who can get hold of it. I got to thinking—you find that stuff here and it’s only a matter of time till you connect it to me. I’m one of the only dudes, man.”

  “How long?”

  “What?” He started to turn around, but Boldt kept him leaning against the wall.

  “How long has Betsy been on them?”

  “Norv? Shit, I don’t know. Six months. Ten, maybe. This windsurfing thing, man, you gotta be strong. She’s been coming along nice.”

  “Tell me about her, Sam. About you and her, I mean.”

  He looked at Boldt in the reflection of the mirror. “No truth to that, man. Swear to God. The lady got in a jam at the club and I bailed her out. All there was to it. Swear to God. I got nothing like that going on with her.”

  “I heard different. I heard you like the women.”

  “Some of ’em, man. Sure. I hear you. But not Norv. Norv was into training in a big way. Sure, she went out with a few of the guys at the club, you know, friends. I hear rumors same as everybody else. That place is full of rumors. We never talked about it. Norv likes to work her bod. She’s real solid for a girl, real good attitude. Attitude is half the battle in training. You gotta have your head in the right place.”

  “Steroids stay in your system, don’t they? I mean months?”

  “That’s right. That’s why they’ve gone out of the pro thing. But there’s still a big market in fitness clubs. People are crazy about their bods, man. Some people do about anything to look better than the next guy, lift another fifty pounds. You’d be surprised.”

  “I’m going to bust you on the B&E.” The man looked shocked. “Got to do it. But I don’t have to mention the drugs. Not yet. I’ll give you forty-eight hours to clean up after yourself. Then I turn your name over to Narco. They’ll sit on you, Sam. You’ll never even know they’re there. You’re out of the business, but you’re out of drug court, too. Understood?”

  “I hear ya.”

  “They’ll give you probation on the B&E. First offense, right?”

  “Right.”

  “A year of probation and it comes off your record. Everybody wins.”

  “Not quite.”

  “I can’t let you skate. I’ve got my reasons.” Boldt began to put his gun away. The quick move caught him by surprise. The big man kicked straight back and slammed Boldt against the wall, robbing him of his wind. Boldt sagged and took a devastating blow to his stomach as the trainer turned and struck him hard. He managed to hook the man’s foot with his own and he yanked hard, throwing Sam off balance. Boldt ducked his head and charged. He heard the mirror break and saw blood on the sink, but DeVito didn’t seem fazed in the least. He linked both hands and brought them up under Boldt’s chin. Boldt’s head snapped back, and when the man lunged at him, his head struck the tile wall.

  Everything turned ugly and black and his head rang in a dull surging pain. He vaguely felt himself sag to the floor. He heard a reverberating thumping as the trainer ran from the house. Boldt fell forward, groping blindly. He dragged himself a few feet and vomited in
to the toilet.

  He heard a car start up and knew the trainer was getting away. He felt like he weighed three hundred pounds. He vomited again and then managed to lift himself up and stumble into the bedroom to a phone by the bedside.

  He dialed 911 and prayed he wouldn’t get a recording.

  26

  As Boldt approached the overgrown path to his rental apartment, Daphne stepped out from her car. She was still in the pink velour sweats and her expression was grave. She had undone the pony tail, but sweat matted the hair at her temples and her eyes and cheeks were flushed. She noticed the ugly bruise on his forehead and gasped, “Jesus, Lou, what happened?”

  He glanced over at her, didn’t answer, and turned his back on her, walking down the short path to his front steps. He unlocked the mailbox and, to his surprise, found some mail that had been forwarded, amazed that the postal system had functioned so well. If only he’d been so lucky with the telephone. He kept getting calls for a pharmacy. He wondered who was getting his calls.

  She caught up to him. “Lou?” she pleaded.

  He turned around and glared down at her. He had quickly thought of several things to say and so was all the more surprised when he heard himself tell her, “Come on in if you like.”

  She followed up the porch steps and held the screen door while Boldt fiddled with the keys. “What happened?” she repeated.

  “Had a little wrestling match. That’s all. It’s nothing.”

  “It doesn’t look like nothing.”

  “Give me a minute to clean up. I’ll be right with you.”

  “No hurry. Nice place,” she called out.

  When Boldt came out of the bathroom he looked better, except for a bruise on his forehead and a pink ear. He offered her a soda water with lime, and fixed one for himself, thinking that had he been a drinker he certainly would have poured a stiff one tonight.

  “That was awkward tonight,” she began. “I thought we should talk about it.”

  “No big deal,” he said, rubbing his elbow and thinking of Shoswitz and his habits.

  “That’s it exactly. It’s no big deal between John and me. We work out together now and then, that’s all. It’s nothing more than that.”

  “I don’t own you, Daphne,” he said, purposely avoiding his nickname for her. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  “We’re friends you and I, and I could tell you were hurt tonight, whether or not you’ll admit it, and I wanted to clear things up. That’s all.”

  “So you cleared them up. Thanks.”

  “Oh, Lou!” She leaned back into the couch and huffed and looked around the room, carefully avoiding Boldt.

  “Damn,” he said, unfolding the paper and seeing another picture of Justin Levitt on the front page. He skimmed the article. It said the boy was the only material witness to the police investigation of the Cross Killer serial murders and that it was believed he had recently provided the police with yet another clue to help narrow the investigation. “Someone must have seen Justin and his mother come down to the office.” He spun the paper around so Daphne could read it. “This pisses me off.”

  She told him she had already seen it and then said, “You’re toying with me, Lou. Please stop. I’m here because I care about you. You know I care about you. You’re more than a friend to me, Lou. You’re an interest. Okay? I won’t put any more pressure on you than that—I know you’re going through some tough times at the moment—but the idea that seeing me with John Kramer could create a problem between us. Well… It’s ludicrous.”

  “I’m sorry if I was rude. There, does that help?”

  “Oh, God.” She slammed her drink down on the low coffee table and stood briskly.

  “I didn’t think psychologists lost their tempers.”

  She fumed, red-faced, fists clenched. The muscles and veins in her neck looked as taut as piano wires.

  He didn’t know why he felt driven to beat her down, but he couldn’t help himself. As he spoke he wondered why he had to drive everything—everyone he loved—away from him. “How does Kramer react to this kind of tantrum?”

  “You bastard!” she hollered. “You self-righteous bastard! You’re not even hearing what I’m saying. You’re interpreting it all so that it fits into some preconceived picture you have of how everything is. You want to feel sorry for yourself, you want to sit on the pity pot, you go right ahead, Lou Boldt. Get into it. Really get into it! Drive yourself down as low as you can go—”

  “Look, you want to go out with Kramer, be my guest. Personally, I find the man vapid and banal, but maybe that suits your tastes. I can get along fine without the misplaced emotions of a woman psychologist. I’m not going to go blow myself away over this, you know. We had one dinner together. Big deal! Big deal!”

  He saw her hair fly behind her, she was moving so fast. Her hips pumped nicely. She slammed the door so hard the curtain fell off the far wall and tumbled like a windless flag onto the television.

  “See ya, babe,” he said, using the nickname formerly reserved for Elizabeth, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, and touching the rising purple lump on his head. He heard her car start up and rev loudly. He thought she might blow a rod. Then he heard contact as she hit something in her attempt to get out of the parking space quickly.

  He would have gotten up to look, but his head hurt too much.

  27

  The next morning, Tuesday, the eighteenth, he carefully avoided Kramer and Daphne. He arrived early enough that he wouldn’t have to pass either of them in the hall. A copy of an FBI pink sheet in his in-box explained why the trainer had taken off: his real name was Samuel Romanello, and he was wanted on a drug charge in Fort Lauderdale.

  Bobbie caught up to him in the elevator. She jumped inside just as the doors closed. He pushed the L. “Morning,” she said. “I hear you did a little wrestling last night.”

  “How about you?” he asked in a toneless, malicious voice.

  She was stunned. “That’s uncalled for,” she said.

  She crossed her arms defiantly and squinted. He thought she might cry. The elevator was too slow. It groaned as it descended.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Taking it out on you. It’s not fair.”

  “No, it isn’t. And I resent you implying that I fuck a man every time I go out on a date. That’s insensitive and unforgivable.”

  “Can we start over?”

  “No,” she said angrily.

  “Please,” he pleaded, his resignation complete. “Please,” he repeated.

  “What’s got into you?”

  “A case of the bads.”

  “I’d say so.”

  “I didn’t mean it.”

  The elevator stopped and they both got out on the ground floor. He turned toward the street. “Buy you a cup of decent coffee?” he asked her. She hesitated and then followed.

  “What I was going to tell you was that I made some headway on the wetsuit.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. He said, “Norvak was taking steroids. I asked Dixie if they could do a tissue sample. He said it was no problem. Said he would send it over to the crime lab. Won’t have any results for a couple of days. If there are no steroids in that woman, then we’re one step closer to proving she’s not Norvak.”

  “I found a rental shop down by the pier. They mark their rentals with red nail polish. Talked to a guy about defaults—nonreturns, you know. Are you listening?”

  “Got a search warrant since he broke into her place. I knew Shoswitz wouldn’t get it anyway. He doesn’t give much effort to those things.”

  “I think that blow to your head knocked something loose. Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

  “Do you have a name?” he asked, indicating he had been listening.

  “That’s a couple of weeks back, so he has to go through his records, but I’m going to go over there now and lean on him. I’m sure people rip them off, but there can’t be that many women’s wetsuits missing from two weeks ago. W
e’ll get a name, a credit-card number, the whole bit.”

  “We’re going through Norvak’s checks trying to find her dentist. Nothing so far, and they’ve gone back over a year. She must have moss in her mouth.”

  “Some people can go years,” she said.

  They stopped at the corner and waited for the pedestrian light to change. When it did they moved across at a slow pace. Boldt was not moving quickly.

  “I’m gonna skip the coffee. Thanks anyway. So, I’ll check in later. You going to be okay?”

  “Sure, I’m okay.”

  “You’re not moving so well.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What’s the other guy look like?”

  “Not a scratch, I’m afraid. And I doubt I’ll ever know for sure. He’s long gone. By the time a patrol made it to his apartment, he had cleaned the place out. We won’t be seeing him again.”

  “Norvak’s really not Jane Doe, is she?”

  He stopped on the sidewalk. A lady carrying a toy poodle bumped into him and issued a noise of discontent. The dog whimpered but wagged its tail.

  “That’s what we’re trying to answer, Detective. And if it’s not Norvak, then who the hell is Jane Doe? And where the hell is Norvak? And why was the same guy at Norvak’s and Kate DeHavelin’s?”

  ***

  “Judith Fuller,” Bobbie told him three hours later. They were seated close to each other in Boldt’s office cubicle. “She rented a wetsuit, a windsurfer, and a car rack on Friday, September thirtieth. Didn’t return any of it. The shop takes it as an insurance loss next week.”

  “You have an address?”

  “She gave them Seagate Village. No number. Condominium apartments in a high-rise overlooking the sound. They’re handled by Lyn Lymann Property Management. Super is a Chinese by the name of Chen Wo. I have calls in to both Wo and Lymann.”

  “Do we have a description?”

  “No one remembered her, but they had a California driver’s license listed. They require a license and a credit card.”

  “California?”