The Body of David Hayes (20 page)

“You know what I meant.”

“There must be a way.”

“For the time being, we cooperate.”

He stunned her with this announcement. Her eyes searched the various tables, the people working the sandwich line, wondering if
they
were watching them right now.

“Are you saying the money’s tied to these people?”

“We don’t know that either.”

“You’re just a wealth of information, aren’t you?”

“It’s fluid,” he said.

She disliked that term. He used it all the time.

He said, “We work on a couple of different assumptions. One is that they may know that Miles and Sarah are with Kathy. The other is that it may have been their money—this Russian’s money. It makes some sense because his business is in trouble with the government right now, and he’s probably cash shy. It makes that seventeen million all the more tempting. He hires Hayes’s new lawyers, gets him out on parole, and puts him to work.”

“What have I done?” she asked, a desperate sadness permeating her.

“You can’t beat them at their game,” he said in that Lou way that suggested he’d already thought this through to where he was now ahead of it. She knew this about him, loved him for it—always looking around the next corner, but could hardly see clear to understand what he meant.

“We beat them, we make it safe, by either playing along or putting the whole lot of them in jail. We’ve already taken certain steps, and there’s more I have planned, but in the meantime, no matter what, you play along. That was the message I took away from there. That’s something I won’t even share with my own team. If you get a call, when you get a call, you call me first and we decide how to play it. Whether or not, and how I include our guys, I don’t know yet.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“It’s not right,” he said. “But it’s necessary.”

“I just go back to work now? Just another day at the

job?”

“You have a reception to plan.”

She couldn’t believe he’d said that. Her expression told him so.

“There’s a second interpretation to the story about the magpie, an interpretation that is further confused, or maybe supported, by physical evidence.”

“I don’t see how you can be so
calm
about this,” she blurted out.

“Either Danny Foreman or a DPA—a deputy prosecuting attorney—named Paul Geiser could have been partnered with Hayes, could be behind the crime scene we found. They’re the magpie, stealing Hayes out of the nest and away from the Russians.”

“And David? Is there a body yet?”

Lou didn’t answer that. “It’s incredibly important that should you hear from either Foreman or Geiser,
regardless
what either may tell you, you must come to me first—even if he makes a convincing argument to the contrary. Don’t believe anyone but me, Liz.”

She nodded, confused, unsure whether David Hayes being alive or dead benefited her family more. Amazed to be in a position to even
think
such a thought.

Lou reached across the table and took her hands in his. To her surprise, his were colder than her own.

DEPUTY PROSECUTING ATTORNEY PAUL GEISER’S OFFICE
reminded Boldt of a librarian’s or research assistant’s with its untidy stacks of papers covering every horizontal surface, the dust, the unsavory smell of old food. He knew Geiser by reputation: a courtroom bully; opinionated to a flaw; outspoken. He’d languished in the prosecuting attorney’s office significantly longer than even the prosecuting attorney himself, destined to never be recruited by the U.S. Attorney’s Office, the proper career track, because his mouth had made him more enemies than it had won friends. The question on Boldt’s mind was whether Geiser could help him learn more about the federal case against Yasmani Svengrad, and what, if anything, Geiser knew about Liz’s affair with Hayes, given his prints on the tape. If Boldt were going to attempt to sting the very investigation he found himself a part of—this in order to protect his family from Svengrad—he had to know all the players, their roles, and their weaknesses.

A man who probably sweated in his sleep, Geiser wore a sheen of perspiration, as if he’d showered too quickly
after a run. He was said to be an expert in the martial arts, and this rumor was now confirmed by a group of photographs on the wall, one of which, a triptych, showed him breaking a small concrete brick in two with his bare hand gripped in a fist. He was said to play the bars for the young impressionable women new to jurisprudence, scoring more often than not, considering himself a real ladies’ man, though Boldt doubted real ladies ever looked his way.

“Lieutenant.” Geiser’s voice sounded sadly misplaced—a nasal-prone adolescent stuck in a forty-year-old’s well-conditioned body, a voice useful in court no doubt, but lost on conversation.

“You mind?” Boldt asked, indicating Geiser’s door.

Judging by his eyes, Geiser did mind, though he nodded. Boldt shut the door, moved a pile of papers aside without asking, and took a seat. By moving that pile, he wanted Geiser to understand he was taking charge. As a rule, attorneys believed they could win any argument. Boldt was here to prove that wrong.

“You’re familiar with David Hayes,” Boldt began.

“I convicted him. What’s this about?”

“Are you aware we found blood evidence in a cabin north of the city that we believe will come back positive for Hayes?”

“Yes, I am. Have you found a body yet? No?”

Boldt fought the urges that rushed to the surface, forcing an artificial calm in their place, believing it a mistake to confront Geiser on his prints being lifted from the videotape, because according to Foreman, Geiser didn’t know the content of the video. There was no sense in bringing his attention to it. Boldt toed a tentative line between exploration and revelation.

“I could use a favor,” he said, beginning to walk that line. Attorneys loved negotiation. “What kind of favor?”

Geiser wore frameless glasses, a thin length of silver wire hooking behind each ear. He’d lost two front teeth—to the martial arts perhaps—their unnatural white giving his ironic smile a glint that drew Boldt’s eye. Boldt did not find him handsome, but saw how some might. He had an intensity about him. The type of man who might go unnoticed when entering a room and yet would later commandeer the conversation at the dinner table; not exactly charming, but not feckless either.

“You must have associates, within the USAO for instance, with whom you’re on good terms.” Boldt knew Geiser’s failure to reach the U.S. Attorney’s Office had to weigh heavily on the man, and tried to say this in a tone that did not imply he was taking a shot at him.

“Go on.”

“I need a case looked into. Quietly, if at all possible. There’s a situation—it could help us both—that apparently involves a federal ruling in favor of a position held by Fish

and Wildlife.”

“You must know a few people over there yourself,” Geiser said. Not to be fooled, Boldt thought. “We’ve both been in this work a long time, eh, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, of course I do. But an inquiry coming from me is completely different than one from you.”

“Not necessarily. It depends on the request.”

“Yasmani Svengrad,” Boldt said, watching intently for a tic or other reaction, trying to drop it like a bomb so that Geiser couldn’t protect himself, knowing full well that experienced
attorneys taught themselves to never visually react to
any
news, no matter the surprise.

“The Sturgeon General.” Geiser disappointed Boldt with his placid expression. “You
are
in the shit if you’re messing with Svengrad.”

“I’m not messing with anyone. I’m exploring the strengths and merits of a federal injunction preventing Svengrad from importing and selling caviar.”

“So the question that needs to be asked is why would you, a Seattle police lieutenant of some note, care what happens to the alleged don of this city’s Russian mafia?”

Boldt opened the bomb bay doors and dropped number two. “I think Svengrad may be the one whose seventeen million went missing.”

This won only a protracted stare from Geiser. “How certain are you?”

“Entirely speculative. But if I…if
we
, you and I… could use the lifting of that injunction as a carrot, something to bring to the table, I have a feeling we might win more than we lose.”

“IRS wants him on tax fraud. The injunction is nothing but a stall while they sharpen their pencils.”

“Then you’re familiar with the case?”

“That Internal Revenue is investigating S&G and Svengrad, yes. But don’t ask me in public, because I’ll deny it. As to this other possibility you’ve just now surfaced, no. That’s news to me.”

“Interested?”

“Interested enough to keep listening.”

“Do you know Svengrad?”

“By reputation.” Geiser clearly felt Boldt’s accusatory
tone. “One of his guys surfaced as our primary in the Radley Trevor case.”

Boldt, along with everyone else in Seattle law enforcement, knew the Radley Trevor case. A twelve-year-old boy found buried alive, presumably held hostage for ransom. Boldt remembered now the whispers of Russian mob during the course of that investigation. His chest seized with the thought of his own children.

“Do you believe it possible that the seventeen million was his?”

“Anything’s possible, Lieutenant. The IRS plays it close to the vest, but let’s assume their case revolves around laundering or offshore accounts—that would dovetail nicely with your theory. We know for a fact that David Hayes intercepted at least one wire transfer from a dummy account at WestCorp intended for a Bahamian bank. That would fit what you’re suggesting.”

“I’m under the impression that if we get the injunction lifted Svengrad will provide information concerning several assaults we’re working. Might possibly even hand over a suspect.” This wasn’t Boldt’s impression at all, but instead that if the injunction were lifted, if Liz cooperated in transferring the seventeen million, then his family would be spared bloodshed. Until he found a way around this, a solution that might keep Liz out of it, he pursued the obvious.

“I’m not sure how that helps the prosecuting attorney’s office exactly,” Geiser said. “My interest is…?”

“We prosecute a man responsible for tearing the fingernails off of at least two individuals, and quite possibly for holding the LaRossa family hostage.”

“Your wife is going to help them, isn’t she, Lieutenant?” Geiser dropped a bomb of his own. “Svengrad’s turning the
screws, is he? Since when does a Homicide lieutenant recommend aborting a multidepartmental federal investigation in order to apprehend a subordinate, some thug who slapped a few people around?”

“Since one of those he slapped around was a state investigator.”

“Danny Foreman and I discussed running your wife, Lieutenant. He detailed to me the contact made by Hayes, both by phone and in person, and we agreed that your wife remained our best bet of busting open this case. Now you show up in my office, just after our primary suspect disappears in a pool of blood, looking to help a mobster who may be behind the whole case? What exactly is my reaction supposed to be?”

Boldt experienced the rare sensation of being pushed back onto his heels. He was usually the one doing the pushing, not the other way around. “My wife’s cooperation is not out of the question at this point.”

“If Svengrad got to you, Lieutenant, the right and proper course of action is to seek protection. I can help with that, as can the USAO. What you do not want to attempt is to manage this yourself.
Physician, heal thyself
. Don’t believe it. That’s a mistake. If you came here seeking my help, if you’re concerned about confidentiality, I can assure you that as of this moment I can and will consider you a client.”

Boldt realized he had to push back now. “When’s the last time you spoke to David Hayes?”

“An individual
identifying himself
as Hayes telephoned me night before last. He said he wanted to cut a deal and suggested we should meet. Why?”

This matched with what Foreman had told Boldt. “And did you meet up with him?”

“It wasn’t Hayes. I couldn’t confirm it was Hayes calling me. In light of these assaults, I thought it a more prudent course of action
not
to take too many risks. I reached the rendezvous, but then left ahead of time. Left quickly. I never met with Hayes.”

“Danny Foreman received a similar call. Are you aware

of that?”

“I am. You look puzzled.”

“Hayes makes pleas to both you and Foreman and within hours is bludgeoned or tortured, perhaps to death. Is there, was there, wire surveillance in place on that cabin?”

“I’m unaware of any. But Foreman is certainly in a position to have bypassed me and gone directly to an Assistant U.S. Attorney. My federal colleagues are far more facile when it comes to granting surveillance.”

“If not a wiretap…”Boldt said, intentionally not completing his thought.

“Yes, I see,” Geiser said. “Then either Foreman or I would have been the source of such information to whoever did the punishing. One of us leaks that Hayes wants to cut a deal, and someone—let’s say Svengrad—steps in and teaches him a lesson in loyalty.”

“Or kills him,” Boldt said.

“Or that.”

“Which makes that person party to capital murder.” Nothing had gone as Boldt had foreseen or hoped. He wasn’t any closer to lifting the injunction against Svengrad, and instead of pinning down Geiser he felt as if he were coming away partially trusting the man. His detective’s sense told him it was time to check both Foreman’s and Geiser’s alibis for the night Hayes had been assaulted.

“So if you passed on the offer to meet Hayes, that left you where two nights ago?”

“Are you accusing me of something, Lieutenant?” Geiser seemed genuinely amused. “I’m offering to protect you, and you’re accusing me? Of what? Bludgeoning David Hayes? I’m a black belt, Lieutenant. If I wanted to hurt or kill David Hayes—or anyone else for that matter—I would never make such a mess of it. You just bit the hand that was feeding you. I’m going to ask you to leave now. I will keep what we discussed, in terms of you and your wife, in confidence, but I warn you again: Do
not
take on Yasmani Svengrad by yourself. In all likelihood, that’s what David Hayes seemed to have tried, does it not? And just look what it got him.”