"The three of us over here have an ongoing investigation into that assault of the female officer."
"Sanchez," Daphne said.
LaMoia told the uniform, "Mine is more of a personal interest. Sanchez and I were… friends."
"I'm with you," Chapman told the three.
"You've always been straight with me, Ron."
"Same here, Lou."
"And I need you to be so now." He repeated, "Straight."
"I've spoken to I.I. already, if that's what this is about."
"That's part of what it's about," Boldt acknowledged. "Krishevski paid me a visit. Told me about a video you have. Wouldn't tell me what's on it."
"So maybe you're wasting your time."
"You want to go down with them?" Boldt asked, having a vague idea of who "them" was. "I.I.'ll get you for hindering prosecution-you understand that, don't you?"
"I got no comment, Lou."
Boldt said, "I was with you when you discovered that rifle being switched. I think it surprised you."
He waited a moment. " 'Course it surprised me," Chapman said.
"This is about the Flu, Ronnie. That's what I think. It's about some of the guys buying themselves a little extra insurance that the cash flow would be there when the guild funds started running dry. It's about inside information, which is where Krishevski fits in: He talked when he shouldn't have. The best pressure we have is that a missing assault rifle took a shot at me."
Chapman's eyes went wide.
LaMoia suggested, "You'll be hooked up to that if you keep playing it the way you are."
Daphne explained, "The shooting offers us the best leverage in terms of getting one of them to talk." She had no idea what she was talking about, but she hoped Chapman didn't know that.
"And I fit in, how?" Chapman asked, vamping.
Boldt said, "Property has always been a clean department, Ronnie."
"Damn right."
"And now this," LaMoia said. "Gotta break your heart."
"It does," the man insisted.
"And us too," LaMoia said.
Daphne added, "We hate to see anyone look bad."
Boldt said, "And we understand that when a guy is dealing with I.I. he's not about to so much as whisper a fellow officer's name without damn good proof, because no matter what anyone says, any kind of I.I. association hurts an officer, jams him up. Even ruins him, sometimes. And for no good reason."
"Agreed."
"It was Krishevski's shift," Boldt stated, as if certain. "How long do you cover, Ronnie?" Boldt readjusted his cast. "Krishevski has three officers under him: Pendegrass, Riorden, and Smythe."
Chapman was feeling uncomfortable. "I'm aware of that, Lou."
"Who was it? What was it?" Boldt tried to sound convincing, "One of them stole some assault rifles. Probably more like two of them, given the way the mechanics work-one guy having to trip a button upstairs in order for the vault to come open downstairs. They sold them into the marketplace for some spending money."
"Is that what's on this missing video?" LaMoia asked. "Or was it you who threw the switch to open the warehouse?"
"I didn't throw no switch. I didn't have nothing to do with that."
Daphne speculated, "You saw something."
Chapman answered, "I caught one of Sergeant K's guys in house on my shift, and he hadn't signed in. You gotta sign in, Lou-that's on penalty of death in our unit. There were threats exchanged. Obviously, I realized something wrong was going down. Something had come out of the warehouse, and it came out on my shift-that was on purpose. And if it came out, then it had to go somewhere. Had to leave the building. And fast."
"The garage," Boldt nodded, understanding the logic. The warehouse and the lower deck of the parking garage were on the same level.
"I don't know if these guys planned on covering their backsides later or not. Maybe they're just plain stupid." He looked at LaMoia. "Maybe they planned to give me what someone gave you, what someone gave Sanchez. Schock. Phillipp. You gotta be some kind of stupid to try any of this. But I got the leg up on 'em. If I hadn't, maybe somebody would have clubbed me in an alley or on the way out of a bar or something."
"Leg up, Ronnie?" Boldt asked.
"You remember that vandalism in the garage… must be two years ago now?"
"Vaguely," Boldt answered.
"I.I. had a pair of cameras installed." He recognized Boldt's blank expression.
LaMoia said, "The video."
"No one knows about those cameras," Chapman said. "The brass wanted it that way. They didn't want anyone knowing. They knew the vandalism had to be internal, cop to cop, and they wanted to put somebody right for it. The wiring for the closed-circuit stuff runs into the boneyard. They installed it saying they were doing maintenance. Thought they'd hidden the VCRs where we'd never see them-way up on a shelf in the back. But I knew. I had to know. I've been in that room going on twenty-one years. I know every creak, every sound. I've been fighting rats and spiders so long that I've given them names. I know every inch of those shelves. But no one knew I knew."
"The videotape," LaMoia repeated.
The ruddy-cheeked man grinned. "I grabbed it that night, knowing it was my insurance package. Locked it away good and tight. And if anything happens to me, it goes directly to KSTV's News Four at Five."
"Oh… my… God," Boldt gasped, realizing Chapman had images that could ID the cops responsible for the theft. "I.I. caught on, how?"
Chapman explained, "I loosened a wire, put a blank tape into the VCR, hoping to satisfy I.I. But it didn't, of course. The Flu hit. I.I. sent Sanchez to talk to me."
LaMoia guessed. "You reported that visit to Krishevski."
Daphne read the man's face. "Not Krishevski. Then to whom?"
"I need that tape," Boldt said.
"It's hidden. They watch me. Probably you too, now.
They want that tape. They get hold of it, and a week from now you'll find me face down in my shower, or lying up next to Sanchez with my neck broke."
"Where does Krishevski fit in?" Boldt inquired, recalling the man's visit to his home two days before.
"Don't look at him for this."
"He knows about your videotape."
"I imagine that's right."
Daphne said, "Having part of the story isn't going to help."
Chapman agreed, but couldn't quite bring himself to talk.
Boldt reminded Chapman, "When we looked in the warehouse for the rifle, there was a rifle. Your doing?"
"I've never tampered with evidence. Never will."
"Those videotapes," Daphne said. "You tampered with those."
"Hey!" he complained. "Those weren't part of Property. You show me one piece of paper saying those were part of Property."
LaMoia tipped back in his kitchen chair. "Okay." He sighed. "I say we leave this for I.I. to mop up. He's not going to help us."
Chapman looked over at Boldt, the first real sign of fear on his face.
Boldt looked the man in the eye. "You don't want to go down on the record as having told anyone anything."
Daphne added, "Because you've seen what they did to Sanchez."
Chapman told her, "I got a family. I got kids."
Boldt suggested, "So I'll tell you what's right, and you'll stop me where I'm wrong."
Chapman nodded his okay.
Boldt closed his eyes and assembled the pieces. When he reopened them, he looked straight at Chapman. The two pairs of eyes locked together. "You figured out these guns were stolen and you accused Krishevski because his guys were on that tape." He paused. Chapman made no corrections. "Either he told you, or you figured out he wasn't directly involved. So when Sanchez shows up four different times, asking questions, Pendegrass gets worried. The next day Sanchez is in the hospital." Another pause. Chapman's eyes were glassy. "Your loyalty is to the room itself, not to any officer. Krishevski feels pretty much the same as you do. Knowing you possess this incriminating tape, Krishevski suggests his boys
will return the stolen weapons. They'll make it right, if you keep quiet. And until you and I pulled that gun off the shelf, you thought they had returned them." He added, "How am I doing?"
Chapman said, "Krishevski couldn't believe his guys could do such a stupid thing. Blamed himself for leaking news of the sickout. Practically begged me to let him set it right. He's not the one you're after."
"Schock and Phillipp take over the I.I. case for Sanchez and pay a couple visits to Property. You're thinking Pendegrass is checking the log, and you're worried for them. You go to the Cock and Bull looking for Pendegrass, to tell him to lay off Schock and Phillipp, but they're right behind you, and Pendegrass and company take a baseball bat to their heads as well-in part to scare you, to let you know who's boss."
Again, Chapman made no corrections.
"Krishevski calls me anonymously because he suspects his boys did Schock and Phillipp. He won't condone that. He knows they need to be stopped. He plays it cool when I show up at the bar, putting on a good act." Boldt paused. No comments from Chapman. "I call down to Property and get Riorden. I start asking about visits by Schock and Phillipp, and suddenly I'm on the list." He paused. "I've got to have that tape, Ronnie."
"No chance! But you don't need me!"
"Help me out here, Ronnie."
"I.I. installed two cameras, one upstairs at the street entrance, one downstairs on level two." He hesitated. "They switch tapes once a day. Fresh ones in place of the ones for the day before. So I knew my switch had to be done that night, before they arrived to put in the fresh tapes. I replaced the tape in the camera on sublevel two with a copy, and took the real tape for myself. Figured it might take them a while to realize. My guess was they marked and stored the tapes and kept them around in case any more vandalism was reported. Maybe erased them after a while, for all I know."
"It leaves me the tape for camera one," Boldt said, finally understanding.
"I don't know if it will do you any good, just seeing a car pull into the garage. I've got the one with the actual business going down, and it stays with me. I don't think they're too worried about that other one. A couple cops coming and going. Where's the foul? But you, Lou. Maybe you can make something out of it."
"Maybe so," Boldt said, glancing at LaMoia, who was already wearing a grin.
CHAPTER 65
Boldt climbed the steps of the Pendegrass home with difficulty, due to the walking cast. In his hand, he nervously wormed the keys to the Crown Vic and the black remote that opened the doors or trunk. In his left hand he carried a videotape.
In a quick shuffle, he had sent Liz and the kids across town to stay at the Four Seasons for the night, promising his wife it was only as a precaution. Liz loved the Four Seasons. She had accepted the request surprisingly calmly, despite the late hour. Boldt took this as a sign they were on the mend. He climbed the steps hoping that he and LaMoia and Daphne had prepared for any and every eventuality, knowing full well that one never could. There were always holes in any plan, especially those made hastily.
He drew in a deep breath and knocked sharply on the door.
Pendegrass answered. He wore those same Air Nikes that Boldt remembered only too well. The two men stared at each other.
"So?" Pendegrass finally said.
Boldt held up the videotape for the man to see. "I couldn't talk Chapman out of his, and I never will. So I guess if you're set on that tape, then whatever you've got of my Denver trip goes out to whoever you plan on seeing it."
"And this?" Pendegrass asked, eyeing the tape in Boldt's hand.
"This is the one you overlooked. Even I.I. overlooked its importance. This is the one that's going to hang you once I get it to SID for analysis. This is what you want to trade for, whether you know it or not. It's the original. If you had me followed from Chapman's then you know I went back downtown. This is why. This tape. I substituted a Mister Rogers for it. You think anyone will ever notice? Not a chance. Because I.I. doesn't understand the importance of the second tape."
"As if I know what you're talking about."
"You think I'm wearing a wire? Is that it?" He raised his arms, still sore all over. "Search me. Go ahead."
"I'll pass. Whatever it is you're trying to do, nice try, Boldt."
"You've got a VCR," Boldt stated. "Five minutes. Give me five minutes." He waved the tape. "It's a real eye-opener."
An impatient Pendegrass considered this and finally stepped back from the door, admitting Boldt, who inside was a nervous wreck. If Pendegrass had slammed the door in his face, it might never have worked.
The TV occupied a tabletop in a cluttered living room that smelled of cigarettes. Pendegrass's wife looked in on them, but the man waved her away and she closed the door tightly, a concerned look overtaking her tired face.
Boldt handed the man the tape and remained standing. He identified the VCR's remote, and pocketing his own keys, took control. This had been Daphne's suggestion: Maintain control over the physical environment.
"The way I figure it," Boldt explained, "you and the others didn't think there was much to fear from the second security video-the one set up to record the entrance." Boldt pressed a button on the remote. The television showed a grainy black-and-white security video of SPD's parking garage. "But I'm telling you, you underestimate Bernie Lofgrin."
Pendegrass maintained a look of confidence, though Boldt had to believe there were cracks.
"There are three men visible in that car. You in the passenger seat, Riorden driving, and Smythe in the back," Boldt said, advancing the tape to the place where Detective Andrew Smythe's face showed clearly through the vehicle's backseat window. "You want me to keep going?"
"We come and go at all hours. All of us do. Yourself included. This proves what?"
"Your car went down to level two…" he advanced the tape, "as can be clearly seen."
"I don't know where you're going with this, Boldt, but this proves absolutely nothing. Zero."
"I'm not going anywhere with this," Boldt corrected. "It's Bernie Lofgrin you should be worried about. The guy's a wizard. You see this post right here?" Boldt pointed to the freeze frame of the car on the screen. "It's been scratched a dozen times by cars clipping it too close. For Lofgrin, it's going to be all about those scratches. They ended up like marks on a measuring stick running up the wall."
Now Pendegrass looked concerned. Any cop knew well enough to fear the things the lab could do.
"Lofgrin will measure the height of the rear bumper against those scratches as you fellows arrived, and then he'll compare that to the height of the same bumper upon your departure less than ten minutes later." He stopped to win Pendegrass's attention. "What you should have done…" Boldt advised the man, "… was take the assault rifles, but leave the military shipping cases. But that would have taken more time, right? That's what I'm thinking: You were in a hurry. The guns don't weigh much at all. But those military shipping cases add up. Lofgrin can measure the height of that bumper going in and coming out. He will prove that when you left that garage ten minutes later, you were carrying over two hundred extra pounds in the trunk. A dead body? I don't think so. Given the missing videotape recorded on that same night, and at least one missing weapon, what do you think I.I. is going to make of your visit?"
"Circumstantial bullshit. You won't get to square one with this."
This was the sticking point of Boldt's argument. The evidence on the tape was circumstantial-and only cir cumstantial-but Boldt needed Pendegrass to believe otherwise. "Might be," Boldt agreed. "How do you think I.I. will look at it? About all they ever deal with is circumstantial evidence. People are going to get questioned about this. People working in the boneyard. You. The others. Deals will be offered to one of you. Chapman will be subpoenaed to turn over that other tape. The best laid plans… A cop was shot at with one of those stolen weapons. This cop!" Boldt said defiantly. He walked over to the VCR and took the tape back. "You guys talk it over. My offer's on the table for tonight and tonight
only."
Pendegrass stood there like a statue.
Boldt said, "Once Bernie Lofgrin gets this, it's out of my hands."
Pendegrass tried to sound convincing. "It don't mean nothing."
Boldt stopped at the front door. "Then you've got nothing to worry about."
CHAPTER 66
Boldt's plan came down to the next few hours. If he was to turn circumstantial evidence into incriminating evidence, he believed it would happen before morning.
He lived twenty minutes from Pendegrass, and he spent much of the time with his eyes trained on his rearview mirror and his right hand gently touching the videotape in the seat beside him. He couldn't be sure, but he believed the same car that had been following him all night-to Chapman's, downtown, and to Pendegrass's-was still back there: a narrow set of headlights with a blue cast to the light itself.
Riorden and Smythe lived the closest to him, and he assumed one of them would be awaiting his return home. Either there would be an offer to trade tapes, or violence. He doubted any call would be placed to his home with an offer-even Property cops knew better than to leave a paper trail.
As he pulled into his driveway, a Seattle mist filled the air, fog passing so low to the earth that it gently rinsed everything, everyone, in its path. He ran his wipers even though it wasn't completely necessary: He didn't want any surprises.
He turned off the car, that dreaded sense of foreboding enveloping him, as well as a deepening sadness that cops were involved. He loved the uniform. He loved the department and what it stood for. It was as simple as that.
He picked up the video and slid it beneath the seat as he and LaMoia had planned. Once outside the car, he used the remote to lock all doors at once. He slipped the bulky keys into his pocket, wondering what felt so wrong. After three or four thoughtful steps he realized what it was.
The silence.
The neighbor's dog did not bark at him, did not scratch at the fence. If Pendegrass, Riorden and Smythe had been the three men who had assaulted him a week earlier-which he now believed-then they knew well enough about that dog. Its silence became all the more frightening.
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