“Am I out of it? I feel like you’re keeping me out of it,” he complained.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant the department.”
“Hang on,” Fowler said, pressing his finger into his left ear. Only then did Boldt notice a tiny, flesh-colored wire running from his shirt collar. “The boss is here.” Fowler had his people in the area, and as a result felt in control. It bothered Boldt, who was accustomed to running things.
The padded door opened and Adler entered.
Howard Taplin put the paperwork aside and stood. He appeared to have lost another five pounds, emaciated by stress and fatigue.
Adler crossed the room and shook hands with Boldt. “You look about like I feel,” he said sympathetically.
“I’m not sure how to take that.”
“Here comes trouble,” Fowler announced. “And way off schedule, I might add.”
Daphne entered, looking frayed. Fowler locked the door behind her.
“If you’ve got problems with your watch,” Fowler said nastily, “we’ll get you another.”
“I was delayed,” Daphne said.
“I was supposed to be ten-minute intervals,” Fowler reminded her. “You were due here before Boldt.”
“I was delayed,” she repeated, glancing at Boldt, who sensed immediately that something was terribly wrong.
“Let’s get started,” Taplin complained irritably. “We have a lot of ground to cover.” He handed both Boldt and Matthews a photocopy of a fax. “This is the first of the two faxes we received.”
“Two?” Boldt asked, reading.
YOU BROKE THE RULES.
YOU HAVE ONLY YOURSELF TO BLAME.
I SAID NO COPS AND I MEANT IT.
Fowler said, “I’ve got a staff of fifteen in a two-shift rotation. Three of the guys wore badges before this. We’ve got experience, we’ve got the best gear. Basically, I think what Mr. Taplin is thinking is that we should take over. We can’t risk any more killings.”
“You’re trying to fire me?” Boldt asked Taplin.
Daphne asked disbelievingly, “Owen?”
Admonishing Fowler, Adler said, “We’re here to discuss this. No decisions have been made.”
“You can’t fire the police,” Boldt explained angrily. He did not want to be forced into telling them about the murder of Sheriff Bramm. Longview Farms had once had direct links to Adler’s former company, though Boldt was waiting for the lab report on the State Health document before informing any of these three. “If we need to take additional precautions to prevent leaks, we will.”
“It goes well beyond that,” Taplin protested. “You’re going to have to shut down your side of this investigation-whatever that entails-and turn it over to us. Mr. Fowler has been handling the details of our side of this investigation, and has not involved the police once to my knowledge-so the leak certainly did not come from our side.”
Adler complained to his counsel, “Let’s dispense with this partisan attitude, Tap. I don’t like it one bit.”
Boldt saw no way around exposing the murder of Sheriff Bramm. It was the only way to settle this. “We’re investigating the homicide of a law enforcement officer who may have been a victim of your blackmailer. The murder occurred at Longview Farms sometime early last night.”
Adler, Fowler, and Taplin all shared expressions of shock. No one spoke until Boldt broke the silence.
“I want to remind you that the evidence collected from the poisonings suggests an Adler Foods employee. But this murder is now being investigated as well. Although we have no evidence yet to corroborate this, we have to consider the possibility that a former Longview employee, or someone hired by one of the Meriweather family, is currently on your payroll and is perpetrating these crimes. The point being that he killed a police officer whom we asked to look around the farm for us-and that is what this fax is in reference to.”
“Why weren’t we informed of this?” Taplin complained.
“We just were,” Adler interjected, losing his patience with his attorney. His eyes betrayed his anger with the man.
“What about your side of this?” Boldt asked Fowler. “Have you gotten anywhere with possible employees, past or present? Why haven’t I seen any reports?”
“I’ve got all that for you,” Fowler said defensively. Pointing to the attorney, he explained, “Mr. Taplin was just going over it. Nothing looks very good, I gotta tell you. I was focusing on guys-okay? And then you throw this curveball that it’s a girl we’re after-that Foodland video-and there I am starting all over. It takes time to do this without attracting attention. You know that.” Fowler asked, “What about the Longview investigation?”
“Matthews is continuing to look into the possibility of a Longview connection,” Boldt replied.
Fowler glanced over at Daphne and nodded. “If you need my help …” he offered.
“Thanks.”
Adler instructed, “Let’s show them the other fax, Howard.” Boldt noted the harsh tone of voice and the use of Taplin’s proper first name instead of the nickname Tap. The tension between these two was palpable.
“Another fax?” Daphne questioned. “A second fax on the same day?” she attempted to clarify.
Fowler shifted restlessly. “You’re seeing ’em in the order we did.”
Boldt read:
MOM’ S HOME RECIPE:
$100,000 IN PAC-WEST #435-98-8332
BY FRIDAY, OR HUNDREDS WILL DIE.
“Sent to the same fax machine?” Boldt asked.
Adler confirmed with a disappointed nod.
Boldt asked Fowler, “What about caller-ID? I take it you got a number?”
“A pay phone in the U district. By the time we reached it, whoever sent this-he? she? — was long gone.”
“We should have been informed, Kenny,” Boldt chastised, furious to have been excluded. “That’s what we have patrol cars for.”
“You didn’t notify the police? Why wasn’t he notified?” Adler inquired. He was doing a fair job of keeping his cool, but he seemed right on the edge of losing it.
“It was a matter of reaction time,” Fowler explained. “I make the phone call … Boldt notifies dispatch … Dispatch notifies the radio cars … I’ve been there, sir.” He grimaced. Boldt got the feeling Kenny Fowler did not appreciate calling anyone sir. “The fastest, most efficient way of handling this,” he said, playing to Adler’s priorities, “was to jump right on it and handle it ourselves.”
“Well it failed-how’s that for efficient? Next time,” Adler corrected, “the police will be notified immediately. Are we all in agreement on that?”
Fowler flushed with embarrassment; he did not like reprimands, either. Boldt felt the meeting falling apart. All three men seemed ready to go at one another’s throats.
Boldt asked Daphne, “What have we got?”
“It uses the same language-this threat to kill hundreds. It has to be taken seriously.” Boldt knew her well enough to sense something troubling her, but he was not going to push, given their present company.
“What bothers me,” Adler said, “is that it seems such a chance to take just to send these faxes-so why send two? Why not combine them?”
“Maybe,” Fowler theorized, “the extortion is what has been planned all along, and it just took pushing him over the top to trigger the demand.” He put Daphne on the spot by asking, “Were the poisonings the setup? First, prove his power, then move in for the real hit-the extortion?”
Daphne chose her words carefully. Glancing quickly to Boldt and then back to Fowler, she repeated, “The extortion threat must be taken seriously. This opening line is another reference to Mom’s Soup, which fits his earlier style. I think he means business. My advice, if that’s what you’re asking for, is to pay the ransom demand.”
Taplin said, “Out of the question. We will not give in to acts of terrorism.” To Adler he said sternly, “We have to draw a line in the sand somewhere.”
Boldt hurried to interrupt. H
e asked Fowler, “What about the bank account?”
“We haven’t done an end run on you concerning this bank account, if that’s what you’re asking. Sure, I could find out the particulars of the account through my contacts, but I lack the kind of access you enjoy at these corporations, so I’m leaving it to you.”
Boldt did not believe any of this. Adler and his company had more than enough banking contacts to end-run the police. He assumed Fowler was already looking into it and simply wanted to avoid the legal problems of admitting it. Boldt saw the incredible opportunity this extortion presented to the investigation, realizing the importance of convincing Adler to reach into his pockets and play the game. He realized the current indecisiveness between Taplin and Adler could be made to work to his advantage, and he believed Adler would listen more closely to Daphne than anyone in this room. Meeting eyes with her, he asked, “How do we interpret this?”
She stared at him briefly and answered, “It’s his first serious mistake. He has allowed greed to cloud his agenda. I disagree with Mr. Fowler: I don’t believe he had this in mind all along. I would say this came as an afterthought. Perhaps faced with a violation of his demands, he realized he had one of two choices: kill hundreds or turn up the heat. I think he has elected the latter. And in doing so, I think what we learn from this is that he is indeed reluctant to deliver on this more serious threat of mass killings. Either he doesn’t have the means to do so, or he’s lacking in will. My interpretation is that he blinked. We should take quick advantage of it. If he’s greedy enough, we can use that against him.”
Taplin insisted, “We are not going to pay. This company will not be held hostage. Besides, we very well may have cut him off at the knees by changing the glues-which admittedly we have you to thank for, Sergeant. The product codes on the Portland contaminations were all for cans produced prior to the glue change. To date, we have seen no contaminated cans post glue change. This extortion attempt is nothing but an act of desperation. He’s out of bullets.”
Daphne said, “We don’t know that. He could easily have a stockpile of soup-a hundred cans or more-in which case the new glue means nothing. The other thing of interest is this bank account-an established bank account. He’s not asking for a paper bag filled with cash, for a dead drop in the bus terminal. This bank account indicates premeditation-a professionalism that must be taken seriously. The demands have continually escalated. Are we seriously willing to challenge this person? I would warn against taking such an action at this point in time. Pay the ransom. Play him out. The FBI would tell you the same thing.”
Taplin stood rigidly tall and said in a cocky, defiant voice: “And if we pay, what happens if this is just the tip of the iceberg?”
“It often is,” she answered. “I don’t have to explain to you that these product-tampering extortions can continue for years. I’m sure you’ve researched your position. The H. J. Heinz baby food case in England went on for over two years. Thirty thousand British pounds were paid out before they caught the man.”
“I’m familiar with the case,” Taplin conceded. “It is exactly what we want to avoid.” Toying with his three-hundred-dollar fountain pen, the attorney said, “At some point enough’s enough.”
“This is not that time,” Boldt cautioned, turning his plea to Adler. “If anything, it’s just the opposite: This is when to play along.” He met eyes with Taplin and then Adler. “You are both men who clearly understand opportunity. You don’t have your kind of success without knowing when to play and when to fold. This isn’t just another threat,” he said, indicating the fax, “it’s an invitation. He’s handing us a real-world link to himself. It’s exactly what we’ve been lacking: a way to lure him in. Forget the glue and the soup and the bacteria. He’s requesting currency, which by definition moves. You move it into the account and he has to move it back out. And when he does, we’re waiting. It’s that simple.”
“He can-”
“Wire it?” Boldt interrupted, cutting off Taplin before he constructed a compelling argument. “He probably thinks he can. But we’ll follow it. This is the computer age-he can’t do anything with that money without our knowing about it. Look, he has made himself vulnerable. This is our first decent chance at him. Don’t take that away from us.” To Adler he said excitedly, hurriedly, “If you don’t pay him, all we’re likely to have is more killings-that’s what he’s promised us. If you pay, we have a trail to follow.”
Taplin complained, “If you give in to a demand like this and the press gets hold of it, you’re seen as weak. These people never stop coming after you. Never. It’s over.”
Adler appeared to be deep in concentration. Boldt elected silence. Adler met eyes with Boldt, and he seemed to be searching for the right answer. The sergeant said, “If you give me the choice, I’d rather follow a money trail than a string of Slater Lowrys.”
Adler checked his watch, turned to Taplin, and said, “You know who comes to a place like this-a planetarium? Kids. Kids like my Corky, like your Peter and Emily. Kids like Slater Emerson Lowry. What if we push this guy over the top? What if there are a couple hundred Slater Lowrys that we’re directly accountable for? How do we live with something like that?”
Taplin’s expression was sullen. “I don’t have an answer for that, Owen.”
“I do,” Adler said. He said, “Kenny?”
“Boldt’s right,” Fowler answered. To Taplin he said, “I understand where you’re coming from with this. We do open ourselves up to all sorts of nightmares-but they are financial nightmares, not human ones. It’s just like Boldt says: He’s giving us the chance to switch tracks. Money instead of lives. I think we jump on that kind of opportunity.”
“So do I,” Adler agreed.
Taplin, a look of resignation overcoming him, shuffled papers into his briefcase and snapped it shut, refusing to meet eyes with Boldt. “I’ll arrange the necessary deposits.”
“We should start small,” Fowler said, directing this to Daphne. “Half maybe. Make him keep the communication coming.”
“I can support that,” she agreed.
“I’ll speak to the bank,” Boldt said. He thanked Adler, adding: “It’s the right decision.”
Adler rocked on his heels and said, “We’ll see.”
EIGHTEEN
Boldt’s hopes rode on a meeting he had set up with Pac-West Bank. Perhaps in setting up this bank account-which for good reason was presumed to be a dummy-the Tin Man had inadvertently left them a clue to his or her identity. It was for this reason that Boldt invited Daphne along: to look for psychological clues in the facts of a bank account application.
As agreed, they all left the Seattle Center separately. Boldt met Daphne at her houseboat, where they shared a pot of tea and planned the bank meeting.
Boldt filled her in on the burning of Longview Farms. “I can hear it in your voice that you blame yourself for sending him there. You can’t do that, Lou. We need you at a hundred percent.”
“Something bothered you about the second fax.”
“You’re changing the subject. The subject is Lou Boldt.”
“What was it?” he asked, refusing her.
“It was a little thing: no placing of blame. All the others made a point of putting the blame back onto Owen. Not this latest one.”
“And that’s significant?”
“The assumption of responsibility is extremely significant, yes. He or she doesn’t want to assume responsibility for these poisonings. They are Owen’s fault. As long as they remain Owen’s fault, they can continue. Strangely enough, the day they stop being Owen’s fault, we’re in trouble. The guilt for these deaths could unravel him. We don’t want that to happen.”
“And you think this fax indicates that it has already happened.” He made it a statement.
She did not want to commit herself. She blew on the tea and looked out her window at Lake Union and a pair of windsurfers, like butterflies on the surface.
“I think that receiving two fa
xes on the same day, with one of them significantly different from all the others, may just be enough to attract the interest of Dr. Richard Clements. And if it does only that, then we’re all better off. He’s the best, Lou. We could use him.”
“There’s something else,” he said noticing that look of hers.
“Which one of us is the psychologist?”
“Is that an answer?”
“I’ve changed my mind about the wife. She certainly didn’t kill Sheriff Bramm. And from the way you describe it, that wasn’t the work of a hired gun. That was someone extremely angry. A male.”
“Yes.”
“You knew that,” she stated.
“Yes.”
“Someone with a personal stake.”
“Absolutely.”
She moved restlessly on the stool. “Chances are when he killed the sheriff, he was symbolizing on Owen. It shows us the kind of anger we’re dealing with. It shows us how volatile he is. He wants to see him dead, Lou. He’ll stay with this until he does-or until we catch him.” She looked away, not wanting to show him her eyes.
“Maybe the bank can help us,” Boldt said. “Razor’s going to join us.”
“That should be interesting.”
Prosecuting Attorney Michael Striker was of average height, but he looked small because he had a small head and a small mouth. He might have had his ears pinned as a child, but they were fanning back out in middle age, bent like leaves stretching for the sun. People called him “Razor” because his voice sounded like someone humming into wax paper wrapped around a comb. At the end of his right arm he carried a metal claw that served as his hand. As a barroom stunt, Razor would stack matchsticks into four-inch-tall wooden chimneys using only his prosthesis. When he was nervous it chattered involuntarily, sounding like an eggbeater hitting the side of the bowl.
The support of the prosecuting attorney was critical to any investigation. A PA did not run an investigation, but he steered it in the necessary legal directions that winning convictions required. The lead detective-the “primary”-and the PA formed a team that was sometimes comfortable, sometimes not. Most warrant affidavits went through the PA or were hot-rodded directly to a judge with the PA’s approval. Being around Michael Striker when he was nervous took some getting used to, as did adjusting to his volatile temper, but Boldt enjoyed the man. He was among the top five PAs in King County, and some people had him picked for a Superior Court appointment within the year.
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